Harry Potter and the Auror's Ransom
by Iris Lefay Longbottom
Summary: In Harry’s fifth year at Hogwarts, he and his friends help Frank and Aurelle Longbottom (Neville’s parents) regain their sanity after being tortured years ago for Voldemort’s whereabouts. Harry and Neville receive special tutoring from a Hogwarts t
1. Prologue

Harry Potter and the Auror's Ransom  
  
A Fan Novel by Iris Lefay Longbottom  
  
Drama/Adventure with lots of humor  
  
Rating: PG   
  
Summary: In Harry's fifth year at Hogwarts, he and his friends help Frank and Aurelle Longbottom (Neville's parents) regain their sanity after being tortured years ago for Voldemort's whereabouts. Harry and Neville receive special tutoring from a Hogwarts teacher for this purpose, and Neville shows his mettle as a true Gryffindor. They get to know a fourth-year Slytherin girl who has more than one surprise up her sleeve.   
  
AN: The Prologue introduces an original character, Ivy Parkinson. Watch for an oblique reference to the Narnia books and one to the Arthurian legend. Don't be put off by how seriously the story begins; it gets funnier, especially in Chapter Two ("The Opposition Verse"). I know the timing of this submission is deucedly awkward; I meant to finish the story months ago ….  
  
  
  
Harry Potter   
  
and the Auror's Ransom  
  
Disclaimer: The characters, settings, and situations from the Harry Potter books by J. K. Rowling are used without permission. This book is unpublished and privately circulated by e-mail and in hard copy, and no money has changed hands in its distribution by the author. No copyright or trademark violation, nor any discourtesy to author J. K. Rowling, is intended.  
  
Contents  
  
Prologue: The Wizard's Niece  
  
1.The Trempath  
  
2.The Opposition Verse  
  
3.Something in Autumn  
  
4.A Coward's Life  
  
5.A First-Class Slytherin  
  
6.Across the Channel  
  
7.Salazara  
  
8.Seeing Things and Hearing Things  
  
9.A Beautiful Mind  
  
10.Holly and Phoenix Feather  
  
11.The Deadness of Mr. Crouch  
  
12.Bargain with Destiny  
  
13.Mischief at Mungo's  
  
14.Octavius  
  
15.A Turn for the Understudy  
  
16.An Offer Refused  
  
17.The Auror's Ransom  
  
18.Biscuits at Bungo's  
  
19.The Snape-Potter-Longbottom Trempath  
  
Epilogue: The Auror's Grandson  
  
****************************************  
  
Prologue: The Wizard's Niece  
  
The man sitting in the study chair was not old, but his sallow face was set in bitter lines of illness and fatigue. The child standing beside him could have been no more than four years old. Both heads were bent over a tray sitting on the desk.   
  
"What do you see?" asked the man.   
  
"I see lots of stones, Uncle," answered the child. "Some of them are pretty. I like that one," and she pointed to a turquoise stone mottled with darker blue.  
  
"Some of these stones are real and some are illusions," he told her.  
  
"What are illusions?"   
  
"Illusions are things that seem to be there, but really aren't, Ivy," he answered.   
  
Ivy thought about this for a moment. "Like pretending?" she asked.  
  
"Not exactly. When you pretend your stuffed owl can talk, do you really hear it?"  
  
"Sometimes … I don't know. But I know my pretend tea doesn't taste like anything."  
  
"An illusion is something you really see, but it really isn't there."  
  
"Oh, I know, Uncle. Like something you see in a mirror."  
  
"Exactly, Ivy. Three of the stones on this tray are not real, even though you can see them." He turned the tray so that the candlelight played over them, the highlights and shadows sliding from one to another. "I want you to tell me which ones are not real."  
  
"But they're not in a mirror, so how can I know if they're real or not? Can I touch them?"  
  
"If you touch the illusion stones, you won't feel them. Your fingers will go through them and you won't be able to pick them up. But I want to see if you can find out which ones aren't real without touching any of them."  
  
The little girl looked closely at the stones and poised one hand over them. "I don't know how."  
  
"You don't have to know how. Just keep looking at them," he encouraged her.  
  
"Will you let me touch the tray, Uncle?"  
  
"Yes, Ivy, if you're careful not to touch the stones."  
  
Ivy nodded, put her hands on the tray and turned it the way her uncle had done. Then she gave it a gentle shake, forward and back, so that the stones rattled. She repeated the same motion twice more, and then pointed to a gleaming black stone with sharp corners near the edge of the tray. "That one didn't move like the rest of them. I think that one's not real," she said.  
  
"Touch it and see," said her uncle. Ivy put one small hand on the stone, and her forefinger passed all the way through it. She giggled quietly.  
  
"It feels like nothing, Uncle."  
  
"You found one of the illusion stones, Ivy. Now look for the other two," said the man, just as absorbed as his little niece. Ivy made to shake the tray again, but he stopped her with a hand on her wrist. "This time find one without moving the tray."  
  
She gave him a sideways look, almost pouting. "Did I do it wrong, Uncle?"  
  
"No, Ivy, you did well. But I want you to find the others a different way."  
  
She turned back to the stones, and studied each one in turn. She pursed her lips and blew on them lightly as she continued to look. A few stones near the middle of the tray had formed a small pile when Ivy had shaken them, and the stones in the pile moved slightly. Then a flash of brilliant red appeared, and a tiny scarlet snake glided out from underneath the pile.   
  
"I didn't know there was a snake on the tray, Uncle," murmured Ivy, enthralled by the minute creature.   
  
"Neither did I," her companion told her with considerably more surprise in his voice. Ivy opened her mouth to say something else, but the snake began to hiss and she listened closely, her head bent to catch the faint sounds. Then she pointed her finger at one of the stones, a pale green translucent one this time.   
  
"That one's not real," she said with certainty.   
  
"Try it," he instructed her. Her finger went through it as if it wasn't there. Her mouth turned up in a satisfied smile. "How did you know that was an illusion stone?" he asked.  
  
"The snake told me, Uncle," Ivy replied.  
  
"The snake told you?"  
  
"Yes, it said, 'The light green stone isn't really there.' Didn't you hear it, Uncle?"  
  
"I don't believe I did. Are you sure?"  
  
"Quite sure, Uncle. It was very quiet, though. Maybe your ears aren't as good as mine."  
  
"Perhaps not," the man said a bit drily.  
  
The snake hissed again and Ivy listened and hissed back to it. This went on for a few moments. Then Ivy turned to her uncle, looking puzzled. "There's a man everybody thinks is dead, Uncle," she said. "The snake told me to tell you he's still alive."  
  
The man straightened in amazement and said urgently, "Who is it, Ivy? Who's still alive?"  
  
Ivy was not frightened by his sudden sharpness. She said, "I don't know his name. The snake didn't say who he is. But he's not a nice man." She conferred with the tiny reptile again, then said, "A sick man told you about him, Uncle. A sick man that nobody believes."  
  
"How did you know that, Ivy?" her uncle demanded.  
  
"The snake told me. Don't you believe me?"  
  
"Yes, I do believe you, Ivy," he sighed. "But you mustn't tell anybody about this. Not even your mother and father."  
  
"I won't, Uncle."  
  
A sharp knocking sounded on the door, and a woman entered and said, "There you are! It's past your bedtime, Ivy. Your sister's already asleep. Come along now."  
  
"Oh, Mummy, /no/," the child wailed, clinging to the arm of the man's chair. "Uncle is teaching me to find stones that aren't there. We're not /finished/ yet."   
  
"You'll have to finish tomorrow, then," the woman told her firmly. "As for you, sir, I've half a mind to send you to bed too. You're still far from well. And don't you think Ivy is a bit young for all this? You're putting too many notions in her head. Time enough for it when she goes to Hogwarts."   
  
"Ivy shows aptitude far beyond her years, Zinnia. She's not the baby you think she is; she can profit from the right training at the right time. She takes after her grandmother, Iris Lefay. I believe she'll do you great credit someday."  
  
"Not forgetting to mention that Iris Lefay—whom I never liked, by the way—is your own mother."   
  
"Indeed. What of it?" the man asked testily.  
  
"What you really mean is that you hope Ivy will do /you/ credit, Severus," Ivy's mother retorted, and led the little girl from the room. 


	2. 1 The Trempath

AN: The scene in the hospital wing is the first one that came to me. It wouldn't let me alone until I wrote it down; Harry made me. I felt a lot the way Harry did: I couldn't turn my back on Frank Longbottom's cry for help. I picked Neville's Gran's name out of the air; my father had an aunt named Lucretia. The Trempath is an original magical device.  
  
*************************  
  
Chapter 1: The Trempath  
  
Madam Pomfrey had tried several sleeping draughts on Harry to no avail. He kept jolting awake from nightmares of pain, sweating, moaning, and clutching his scar, unable to shake off the delusions from his dreams. At last she decided to send for Professor Dumbledore, and Harry made no objection. As their footsteps neared his bed Harry heard her exclaiming to the headmaster, "I can't make out what's wrong with the boy, and he won't tell me anything. He came into the hospital wing this afternoon with one of his classmates, saying he felt ill. He had a raging temperature and I put him to bed, but I haven't been able to do anything for him."  
  
Madam Pomfrey pulled back the curtains around Harry's bed, and Professor Dumbledore sat down in a bedside chair. "I hear you're having a restless night, Harry," he said calmly. "Not just a touch of the flu, is it? What seems to be the matter?"   
  
Just seeing the professor there, as friendly and interested as if he were simply paying a midnight social call, made Harry feel a little better. Madam Pomfrey's agitation, though she tried to pass it off as her usual fussiness, had been having the reverse effect.   
  
"Sir," whispered Harry, "I couldn't say anything to Madam Pomfrey. It's a bit personal. But you're the one who told me about Neville's Mum and Dad."   
  
"The Longbottoms? Did something happen, Harry?"  
  
"I found out that Neville was going to visit them today, a bit by accident. I went to our dorm room and saw him tidying up, combing his hair and that, so I asked if he was going somewhere. When he didn't answer right away, I remembered about his parents, and I told him I knew about them." Neville had seemed relieved that he didn't need to explain. Frank Longbottom and his wife were at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, driven insane by the Cruciatus Curse when they had been tortured for information about Voldemort's whereabouts after his disappearance many years ago.  
  
"I'm glad it's all clear between the two of you, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Neville needs a few people around him who know about his family."  
  
Harry went on, "Then Neville suddenly asked if I would come with him. He knew it sounded odd, but he had a feeling I should see them. He was sure I wouldn't want to, in fact he backed off and told me to forget it, before I even said anything. But I said I would go."  
  
Dumbledore sat quietly for a moment, stroking his long beard. "Do you know why you decided to see them, Harry?" he asked.  
  
Harry turned his head away from Dumbledore's gaze and stared at the ceiling, pressing his scar with both hands. "I didn't want to go, sir. Neville was right about that. But I needed to know. Voldemort—this was my chance to see with my own eyes what Voldemort's followers had done for him." Harry's voice was bitter. "I didn't kill Wormtail when I had the chance. If I had, Cedric might still be alive. I couldn't keep Voldemort from coming back. But I thought that maybe I could learn something helpful by seeing the Longbottoms."  
  
Dumbledore nodded.   
  
"His Gran was surprised when I turned up, I can tell you, but when Neville introduced us and she took a good look at me, she just said, 'So you're young Potter,' and that was that. No whys and wherefores."   
  
"Lucretia Longbottom knew your parents rather well, Harry," Dumbledore remarked. "Frank used to ask his friends to visit during holidays, and his mother made them all welcome. I expect she knows more than she lets on about what happened after James and Lily's death."  
  
"I saw Neville's Dad in hospital," Harry remembered, seeing Frank Longbottom again in his mind's eye, looking too old and weak even to stand up, his eyes dead and dull and hopeless. He hadn't even seemed to see any of them. "He looked—worse than I ever saw Sirius look. But when Neville told him who I was, he seemed to recognize me, even though we've never met before. He stared at me for about a minute. Then he took something out of his pocket and showed it to me. It was a ball about the same size as a Remembrall, but the stuff swirling inside made me think of a Pensieve, except that it was all different colors."   
  
"That's a Trempath, Harry," Dumbledore told him. "The Pensieve stores memories. The Trempath carries feelings, both sensations and emotions."  
  
"He handed to me very slowly. I could tell that he was warning me to brace myself for a shock when I took it." Harry had felt a tingling in his hand from the vibrations of the Trempath, and then a sudden burning in his scar. "There's something like a dementor inside his head. Not exactly a dementor. Something with no face, that keeps hitting him with the Cruciatus Curse over and over again. It's not as bad as the real thing," Harrry shuddered as he remembered the real thing, "but it's bad enough.   
  
"The more I felt it, the less he did. But the most I could do was go halves with him. I can't imagine what his life must be like." Harry's first impulse had been to drop the Trempath as if it were red-hot, but he had held on to it and tried to think. The creature reminded him of a dementor, so he had tried the Patronus charm. It had taken him a few attempts to hit on the right happy memory—the time after the first task in the Triwizard Tournament when he and Ron had finally been friends again after not talking for weeks. "I got my Patronus working well enough to get this character to stop doing the curse, but only for a few seconds at a time. My Patronus wasn't very solid, but the dementor-thing wasn't exactly real either. So I kept trying again. But I was getting tired." Every moment of respite had been like a sip of water in the desert for Frank Longbottom, but Harry's vision had started fogging over and he had nearly fallen over in a faint.  
  
"Harry, I can't allow you to see Frank Longbottom again," said Dumbledore. "It's far too dangerous for you."  
  
"But I have to see him again." Harry sat up in bed, hot and feverish. "Professor, you don't know—after a while, he /stopped/ me. I was getting ready for another try, but he wouldn't let me go on, because he knew it was dangerous for me, so he broke the charm and took back the Trempath." He saw understanding in Dumbledore's face.   
  
"Frank was always too brave for his own good," Dumbledore remarked. "Evidently that trait is still in working order."  
  
"I noticed. He still couldn't talk, but he mouthed the words come back," Harry said. "I promised I would come back. I gave him my word." Harry didn't have to add that he had no intention of letting school rules or the threat of being expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry stop him from keeping his word. "He's still there, sir. I mean, the person he was before he went insane. But he may not last much longer. Neville told me afterwards that he's never visited his parents over Christmas holidays, but this year his Gran took him because in hospital they think his Dad may not live through the spring."  
  
Dumbledore drew a long breath. "I understand, Harry," he said gently. "We'll discuss this again in my office after you've had a chance to recover."  
  
Harry settled back onto his pillows again. "I made it back to the lobby and waited there for Neville to see his Mum. I never saw her myself. My scar's been hurting me ever since, and Neville brought me up here. Every time I fall asleep I dream that I'm Frank Longbottom under the Cruciatus Curse. I can't shake it off. I ate some Chocolate Frogs, but it didn't help much."   
  
"Don't worry, Harry. I'll drop a suggestion in Madam Pomfrey's ear without mentioning any names, and she'll be able to help you. Get some rest now. The password is Pumpkin Pasty." And Dumbledore left.   
  
Soon Madam Pomfrey approached Harry with still another potion. She was obviously bothered that both Harry and Dumbledore were keeping something important from her. "You've been doing something foolish and dangerous, I can tell," she fretted as he drank the bitter stuff down, "but no one sees fit to tell me what I need to know. This is something I use only when nothing else works; I certainly hope it does the trick;."  
  
Harry hoped so too, but he didn't have to wait long to find out. His eyes closed and he slept without dreaming until nearly noon the next day. He woke up to winter daylight feeling much better, but still wrung out. He didn't argue with Madam Pomfrey when she felt his forehead and insisted that he spend another night in the infirmary.  
  
Ron and Hermione came to visit him in the afternoon. "We tried to see you this morning, but you were still asleep," Ron informed him. "What's wrong with you, anyway? You were okay yesterday morning."   
  
Harry opened his mouth to say something about flu or food poisoning, but Hermione forestalled him by saying sternly, "I know what you're going to say. It's no use trying that on me, Harry. I saw you come back with Neville and his Gran, looking like something the cat dragged in!"  
  
"You should be an expert on that," Ron told her.  
  
"And Madam Pomfrey's giving you hellebore, Harry! That's for curing insanity."  
  
"We always knew you were a complete nutter, Harry," Ron added with mock sympathy. "But you can trust us to keep it quiet."  
  
"Seriously, Harry, we're your friends and you need to let us help you."  
  
Harry didn't have it in him to prevaricate in the face of such persistence. He was still too tired. "Look," he said, "I'll tell you about it as soon as I can. I have to talk to Professor Dumbledore again, and Neville too. But if I hear that you've been trying to screw anything out of Neville"—Harry paused and glared at each of them in turn, giving particular attention to Hermione—"I might change my mind and not tell you after all." It was the direst threat he could think of.  
  
"I hoped you'd think better of me than that," said Hermione with a hint of reproach.   
  
"He'd like to, Hermione," said Ron, "but it's hard when you were snooping in Madam Pomfrey's office less than ten minutes ago."  
  
"Maybe you could convince Ron to get down off his high horse, Harry," retorted Hermione, now definitely sounding offended.   
  
"You should be an expert on that too," said Ron.  
  
"Listen, you two," Harry interrupted them, "I really do want your help with this. It's more than I can handle on my own, that's for sure. But I /will/ have to trust you to keep it quiet. Hermione, you can start by going to the library and doing some research on—let's see—insanity, and you might look up hellebore too, and Ron, why don't you, erm, well …"  
  
"Borrow your Firebolt," Ron prompted him.   
  
"Borrow my Firebolt," agreed Harry, "and …"  
  
Madam Pomfrey came by then and shooed Ron and Hermione away. "Enough visiting. This patient needs rest," she said firmly.  
  
"'Bye, Harry. Can I really use your Firebolt?" called Ron as they left.  
  
"Go ahead," answered Harry, not adding any cautionary warnings. He knew that Ron would treat his racing broom like a precious treasure, or else.   
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
The next day, released from the hospital wing, Harry answered a summons to Dumbledore's office. The students who had left for the Christmas holidays were returning to Hogwarts for the winter term. Cho Chang waved to him as he passed her in the hall on his way to Dumbledore's tower. He said, "/Pumpkin Pasty/," to the stone gargoyle at the tower's foot, and the door opened onto the moving spiral staircase that led to the headmaster's office. Soon he found himself being invited into the round room full of intriguing objects and creatures he remembered from years past, including Fawkes the Phoenix, the Sorting Hat, and the Pensieve.   
  
"How are you, Harry?" Dumbledore asked him, with his friendly but piercing stare. The question was not a formality.   
  
"Much better, sir," Harry answered. "The hellebore sent me right off, and I never looked back."  
  
"Did Madam Pomfrey tell you what it was, Harry?" Dumbledore asked in surprise.  
  
"Er—no, sir," Harry stammered, turning red. But the headmaster smiled knowingly and didn't pursue the subject. Instead he said, "Yesterday I went to see Frank Longbottom myself. I questioned the hospital staff and they told me that not much had changed, but that he seemed a little stronger after your visit. When I saw him, I got no response until I mentioned your name, Harry. When I told him 'Harry Potter will be back,' I saw something like hope in his eyes. He's waiting for you, holding on until the next time you come."  
  
"Then you are going to let me see him again, Professor," Harry exclaimed.  
  
"I cannot in good conscience do otherwise, Harry," Dumbledore said heavily, "but I do so with great reluctance, because I am responsible for your safety and well-being, and you will be in great danger, danger that would test even a wizard grown to his full powers. But I can see that it's too late for you to turn back now. In some ways it would be just as dangerous."   
  
"Professor, why has no one ever been able to help Frank Longbottom in all the years he's been in hospital?" This question had been eating at Harry for the past two days.  
  
  
  
"That, Harry, is another sad story," replied Dumbledore. "At first the witches and wizards at Mungo's were confident that they could cure his insanity. Many potions, spells, and charms with healing powers were tried. A few of the staff found spells that seemed to be working, but the better they worked, the harder they were on their users. One very old witch died after working with Frank. Several others fell seriously ill; they all recovered eventually, but there were some close shaves. After a while Frank just shut himself down. He must somehow have realized what was happening, and he no longer let anyone come close enough to help him. The Trempath had been given to him for therapeutic purposes, but he refused to let anyone else touch it. That put an end to the illnesses.  
  
  
  
"It's my belief, based on what you have told me, that Frank Longbottom has been waiting all these years for a witch or wizard with the resources to lighten the terrible burden he carries. And, strange as it may seem, he has found what he sought in you, Harry."  
  
  
  
Harry didn't know what to say. He didn't feel like a tower of strength. He seemed to attract danger and special attention without trying, and although after more than four years he was getting used to coping with it, he still didn't know quite what to make of it.   
  
"I feel as if I could do something for Neville's Dad, if I had some help," he said at length. "Why else have I spent all these years training to be a wizard?"  
  
"I just wish it could have waited until you're a bit older, Harry," Dumbledore sighed.   
  
"Sir, it happened when it happened for a reason," Harry pointed out. "When I'm older, it might be too late for Frank Longbottom."  
  
Dumbledore nodded. After a moment he said, "Harry, you have good reason to know that I am not infallible. I have done what I could for your safety since you first came to Hogwarts, but with less than outstanding success. Perhaps it is better to send you into danger with as much help and knowledge and preparation as I can give you, than to allow danger to take you by surprise again."   
  
"That's how I feel, sir," Harry agreed. "I wish Professor Lupin was still here. He taught me the Patronus charm, and it almost worked with Neville's Dad."  
  
"There is one teacher here who can give you just what I think you need," Dumbledore concluded. "His experience has given him valuable skills he can pass on to you."  
  
Harry waited. Did he catch a twinkle of amusement?  
  
"I'm going to ak Professor Snape to tutor you, Harry."  
  
Harry opened his mouth, but could find no words. How could he and Professor Snape possibly work together? Snape could hardly stand the sight of him. The Potions master had made his dislike for Harry obvious on many occasions.   
  
"Neville will join you to give any help he can, since Frank Longbottom is his father," Dumbledore went on, "and I will be there long enough to get the three of you started. Instead of using a regular classroom, you will meet in a secret chamber for greater privacy. I will show you all how to find it and give you the password. You'll be using Secret Room Number Eight, designated for advanced work in Dark Arts Defense Mentality."  
  
Harry tried to picture how a session with Snape, Neville, and himself might turn out, but couldn't quite manage it.   
  
"There's no need for the whole school to know about this, so I'd like you to keep it as quiet as possible. But I know you will want to share it with Ron and Hermione."  
  
"Hagrid, too, sir, if it's all right. We could meet at his house sometimes."  
  
"All right, Harry, that seems reasonable. That's all for now, but before you go …"  
  
"Yes, sir?"  
  
"Good luck, Harry."  
  
AN: In chapter 2, "The Opposition Verse," Harry, Neville, and Professor Snape embark on their first of many tutoring sessions in Secret Room Number Eight. 


	3. 2 The Opposition Verse

AN: In this chapter I began developing Neville's character considerably, which became a great source of satisfaction to me. I couldn't shake the conviction that Neville's Mum was named Aurelle, even though I couldn't find it in HP4.   
  
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Chapter 2: The Opposition Verse  
  
The next day, Dumbledore led Harry and Neville to a large, windowless room. In the torch-lit gloom they could make out several doors in addition to the one they had used to enter. Next to what appeared to be a closet door, Harry noticed a painting in a dusty carved frame, showing an empty rocking chair with an open book on the seat, and a pair of spectacles resting on the pages. It looked as if someone had been sitting there reading and was planning to return.   
  
Neville tensed visibly when Snape came into the room. Harry heard him muttering "Riddikulus" under his breath, no doubt trying to imagine the hook-nosed Potions master dressed in his grandmother's clothes, complete with vulture hat and large red handbag.   
  
  
  
Snape had obviously been briefed. "So," he sneered when he, Harry, Neville, and Dumbledore were seated around the table in the middle of the room, "The great, the famous, the powerful Potter thinks that he can do what no other wizard has been able to do in the past twelve years—wave his wand and cure the incurable."  
  
Dumbledore said mildly, "It's not Harry who thinks so, but Frank Longbottom himself."  
  
Snape sniffed. "Delusions of a madman," he scoffed. "How could a half-grown wizard, who's so full of himself that he thinks he can break any rule he fancies, who swaggers around the school as if he owns it, do anything remotely useful for the likes of Frank Longbottom?"  
  
Neville sat, trembling, as he listened to Snape, then appeared to come to a difficult decision. He stood up, cleared his throat squeakily, and stuttered, "What—what makes you so sure he can't, sir? If there's any hope that my Dad can get well—or even a little bit better—I can't just sit and listen to your—your insults. They're not remotely useful." Neville gulped and his knees threatened to buckle, but he hung on to the back of his chair and pulled himself upright. He said more forcefully, "You should be honored to be asked to help my Dad, when no one else has been able to—not even Professor Dumbledore." Neville sat down again, round-eyed with horror at what he had done, but determined not to back down.   
  
Snape's jaw sagged in shock. When he recovered his powers of speech, he hissed, "Longbottom, your cheek will cost Gryffindor house twenty points." Harry was sure that if Dumbledore had not been in the room it would have been forty.   
  
"And your loyalty to your father and your friend earns twenty-five points for Gryffindor, Neville," countered Dumbledore, giving the petrified student a look of great warmth. The headmaster stood up and said, "Clearly everything is going as it should, and you don't need me anymore. So I'll leave you to it. Just one more thing. No more points will be taken from any Hogwarts house by anyone in this room. This is not a Hogwarts affair; what happens here is separate from the school as such." And he was gone, closing the door quietly behind him.  
  
Harry broke the silence, speaking for the first time. "You're right, Professor Snape," he said. "I can't do this alone. I need help. Teach me what I need to know."  
  
Snape gave Harry a long, measuring look. "Very well, Potter," he said. "We'll see what you are capable of learning."  
  
"You can still give us detention, sir," Neville said helpfully.  
  
"Indeed," agreed Snape. "So the two of you had best mind what you do." The professor paused, his fierce black eyes fixed sternly on both of them. He rose from his seat and paced back and forth a moment, drawing his wand through his fingers and scowling to himself. Then he turned his scowl to Harry and Neville again.   
  
"Now," he said, "we'll get down to work. Potter, I have been informed that you attempted the Patronus charm against the Curser in what remains of Frank Longbottom's mind. That was not a particularly wise or effective choice. A Curser is not a dementor." Snape said this as if it were so obvious and elementary that it pained him even to have to mention it.   
  
"As a necessary part of learning the spells that will disable a Curser, you must master something else." Snape's voice dropped to an ominous whisper. "You must learn to defend yourself against the Cruciatus Curse."   
  
Harry's eyes, locked on the Professor's, widened with alarm. Of the three Unforgiveable Curses, the Cruciatus Curse was perhaps the one Harry had the most reason to fear. As a baby he had, against all odds, thrown off the Avada Kedavra, the killing curse; last year in Defense Against the Dark Arts he had developed his ability to resist the Imperius Curse, which compelled obedience to any command. But Harry could all too easily imagine Professor Snape calmly striking him down with the Cruciatus Curse and observing the resulting agony with indifference, or even enjoyment. For a wild moment he wondered if that was why Snape had never held the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. But no, surely not; Dumbledore trusted Snape.   
  
Was Snape waiting for Harry to beg not to be struck with the curse? Would that give the Potions master satisfaction? Harry was spared the necessity of coming up with a response, anyway; Neville was croaking, "Sir—no—you can't! You wouldn't!" He looked horrified, and well he might.   
  
"Mr. Longbottom," Snape addressed him with icy dignity, "I have no intention of cursing any of my students, even those who may richly deserve it. The Unforgiveable Curses, as you know, are not permitted at Hogwarts, and although some teachers have been known to flout this rule, I will not stoop to such invidious tactics. Please calm yourself, Longbottom. Fortunately there are less drastic practice methods for building up resistance. Allow me to demonstrate."   
  
Snape raised his wand. Harry caught an unmistakable look of anticipation on his teacher's face, and braced himself for he knew not what. Snape exclaimed, "/Titillo/!" and Harry exploded with uncontrollable laughter. He felt invisible fingers tickling him all over, and he squirmed helplessly in his chair, clutching his midsection and gasping, "Oh ha, ha, no, please, hee hee heeee, oh help." He doubled over, banged his forehead smartly on the table, and added, "Ow, ha, ha, you're killing me, ho ho ho." Snape watched Harry flop around like a hooked fish for a while longer, and then, with seeming reluctance, lowered his wand.   
  
"This is no ordinary Tickling Charm," he informed them, while Harry recovered himself, breathing deeply and wiping his eyes. "The charm you are familiar with is one-handed; this one employs an unlimited number and distribution of phantom fingers."  
  
Neville whispered, "Are you okay?" and Harry nodded weakly.   
  
"It is useful for disarming a hostile opponent," Snape went on, "and also for teaching self-command under a range of circumstances. Anyone who wishes to master the Tickling Charm must learn to stand up to it first. For that purpose we will begin with a simple exercise. Potter, Longbottom, repeat after me:   
  
"/You may think you can tickle me into submission,  
  
And force me to realize your fondest ambition.  
  
It's true that I'm placed in an awkward position  
  
When faced with the power of your ammunition,  
  
But that only strengthens my sworn opposition  
  
To all you would gain from this grim inquisition/."  
  
Harry and Neville stared at Snape rather blankly, and his nostrils flared with impatience.   
  
"You may think you … er …" faltered Harry.  
  
"You can tickle an awkward position," supplied Neville.  
  
Snape glared at them in withering silence. "Very well, we will take it one line at a time," he conceded with long-suffering contempt.   
  
  
  
Neville raised his hand. "It would help if I could see it written down, sir."  
  
  
  
Snape turned to a blackboard hanging on the wall, flourished his wand, and said, "Scripto versum!" The words he had recited to them started appearing in fiery letters until all the lines were complete. "Now," he growled, "I trust we can get on with it."  
  
  
  
Going through it line by line, it didn't take Harry and Neville very long to memorize the verse. Soon they were each able to rattle it off, even after Snape had made the words disappear from the blackboard.   
  
"The next step," the Professor directed them, "is to recite the verse while in the power of the Tickling Charm. Are you ready, Potter?"  
  
Harry wasn't ready at all, but he wasn't going to admit it. He straightened up in his chair and nodded. He heard, "/Titillo/!" and burst out laughing as the tickling overtook him. It was a moment before he remembered what he was supposed to do. "You may ha, ha, think you can ha, ha, haaaa …" he choked. "Tickle me into hee, hee, ha ha." There was no way he could get through the entire verse; he couldn't remember it anymore anyway. Snape waited grimly until he had reduced Harry to a quivering heap on the floor, and lifted the charm.   
  
"You'll have to do better than that, Potter." Snape was clearly disgusted, but also seemed faintly gratified at Harry's lack of success.  
  
"I know, sir," Harry answered, still giggling feebly. He sucked in breath and managed to stagger back to his seat.   
  
"Your turn, Longbottom," Snape said to Neville, who looked apprehensive, but much less agitated than he had been at the thought of watching Harry undergo the Cruciatus Curse. To Harry's considerable surprise, Neville kept his seat and hiccuped his way through the verse without losing the thread more than six or seven times, though near the end he had to pause for a long time to pound the table and howl with mirth.  
  
Snape pursed his lips, not admitting to being impressed. "Not good, Longbottom," was his verdict, "but not as bad as Potter." From Snape that was hight praise, and Neville looked pleased. He looked sideways at Harry to see his reaction, and Harry winked back, mouthing the words Way to go, Neville, while trying to ignore a small sting of hurt pride.   
  
"Clearly Mr. Potter needs remedial work in the Tickling Charm," Snape observed. "Fortunately it is possible in this case to make a speed adjustment." He sounded as if he were offering Harry a bike with training wheels. "We will make another attempt." His wand came up again, and he pronounced, "Ti …ti …llo!" This time the invisible tickling fingers only moved half as fast as they had before, and Harry got through /You may think you can tickle me into submission/ about as well as Neville had at with the charm at full speed. Snape nodded and said, "A slight improvement. Now it remains to increase the speed gradually."  
  
At this point Neville spoke up, surprising Harry all over again. "Don't you think that's enough tickling for today, sir?" he asked. "You can tickle us some more at our next session." Then, as if suddenly realizing how impertinent this sounded, he added, "I mean, you could tickle me again if you want, sir, I've only had it once and Harry's been through it three times …" He trailed off in confusion.   
  
Snape appeared undecided at how to react to this upstart student telling him his job. He couldn't take points from Gryffindor, and Harry rather expected him to sock Neville with a whopping detention. But Snape's eyes brightened as a new idea occurred to him, and he merely responded, "Perhaps you are right, Longbottom. I believe it's time to move onto a different exercise, also very useful for learning to deal with the Cruciatus Curse." He rubbed his palms together, rolling his wand between them, and Harry felt another stab of foreboding.   
  
"/Aquafrigida!/" A jet of water sprayed out of the tip of Snape's wand and hit Harry with the force of an industrial pressure hose. It was, of course, icy cold and highly unpleasant. Harry gasped and shivered under the blast.   
  
"The operative word here is 'drench,' Potter," Snape told him as he played the water over Harry for maximum impact. /The operative word?/ Harry puzzled as his robes got soaked. Then he understood what was expected of him and recited through chattering teeth,   
  
"/You may th-think you c-can drench me into sub-submission,  
  
And force me t-to realize your f-fondest ambition/. …"  
  
It wasn't fun, but it was a shade easier than being tickled. Harry finished the verse and the water stopped spraying, but it still dripped from his hair and clothing, although the room and furniture appeared to have escaped the effects of the spell. He fished out his wand, whispered, "Desicco," and was instantly dry, but he still shook with cold. He knew it was no use expecting Snape to offer him a mug of hot butterbeer, but at least the professor was less scathing in his assessment. He did say, "Next time put more conviction into it, Potter."  
  
Neville didn't do well with the jet of frigid water. He yelped and cowered under the table, trying to avoid the icy gush, but it was relentless and so was Snape, until it became obvious that Neville wasn't going to make it past the second line of the poem.   
  
"So. Another remedial case," Snape noted with relish, as Neville emerged above the tabletop and Harry dried him off with a flick of his wand. Neville shuddered violently, chillled to the bone, and Harry wondered if there was anything he could do to stave off the next step, in which the Professor would no doubt strike Neville with the drenching spell again, at a slightly higher but still arctic temperature. Harry checked his new watch, a Christmas gift from Ron, and found to his relief that an hour had passed and the hands pointed to a picture of a table with steaming dishes of food on it. "Sir, it's lunchtime," he said. "May we be excused?"  
  
"Is it really that late?" Snape asked in amazement. "So it is. I had no idea so much time had passed. I'll see the two of you tomorrow at the same time; don't be late." Snape had apparently enjoyed himself and was feeling almost mellow. "We have a great deal of work ahead of us." The prospect made Snape show his teeth in a satisfied smile.   
  
As Harry and Neville walked slowly down to the Great Hall for lunch, Harry asked, "How did you get so good at being tickled?"   
  
Neville ducked his head and said, "I wouldn't say exactly good. Just …"  
  
"Just 'not as bad as Potter,'" Harry concluded glumly.   
  
"Well, when I was younger, the family in the house across the street had a teenager who was a real bully. When he was home for vacations he used to pounce on me whenever he got the chance and tickle me. The harder I laughed, the more he tickled. After a couple of years I kind of … got used to it." Neville shrugged. "It doesn't take magic. Just practice."   
  
Harry felt exhausted. His ribs and stomach hurt from laughing so hard and the rest of his muscles ached from shivering with cold. He still felt chilly. He wasn't looking forward to the next day's tutorial with Professor Snape, and he didn't imagine that Neville was, either.   
  
"Neville, there's something I need to ask you before we go in," Harry said in a low voice as they paused just outside the Great Hall. "I promised Ron and Hermione that I'd tell them everything as soon as I could, and Professor Dumbledore said it would be all right. But I want to make sure it's okay with you too. After, it's your Dad who's involved."   
  
"Harry, I don't care who knows about my Mum and Dad if there's a chance it will help them. It's just … hard for me to bring it up myself."  
  
"I know what you mean," said Harry.   
  
At lunch, which was still attended by only a few scattered pupils, Harry suggested that Ron, Hermione, and Neville join him in a visit to Hagrid at his gamekeeper's cottage on the Hogwarts grounds. They could hold a council of war there.   
  
"A council of war, huh? So we're finally going to find out what all this is about?" said Ron through a mouthful of mashed potatoes. "What's Neville got to do with it?" He pointed with his fork.  
  
"A lot. Trust me," whispered Harry, "but it'll have to wait." He looked down at his own plate and wondered how much he would be able to eat with the soreness in his stomach.   
  
"You look done in, Harry," Hermione remarked as she watched him listlessly pick up his knife and fork. "What have you been doing this morning?" She noticed that Neville was pale and shivering. "You too, Neville. Have you been out in a thunderstorm or something?"  
  
"Almost," said Neville. "Actually, that would have been more fun than what we did do."  
  
Hermione gave it up, shook her head, and turned her attention to the library book she had brought to the table. She was reading about healing draughts and potions, including, of course, hellebore. "Veratrum viride," she murmured. "Green hellebore. It says here that the leaves are very poisonous, but you can make a soothing brew from it."  
  
"Lucky for me," said Harry.   
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Later, at Hagrid's little cabin by the Forbidden Forest, Harry felt his stomach finally begin to unclench as he sat in an armchair before a roaring fire with a mug of ginger tea. His lunch settled a bit and a wave of warm drowsiness washed over him. Neville, sitting across from him, was getting his normal color back. Hermione had insisted that they toast themselves without delay while she and Hagrid got the tea ready and Ron brought in more firewood. Hagrid settled himself with a creak on a chair, looking at Harry and Neville keenly with his beetle-black eyes in their thicket of hair, and demanded, "So Harry, what's this I hear abou' a council of war?" (Ron had taken to the phrase and mentioned it when the four of them appeared on Hagrid's doorstep.) Fang the boarhound, after greeting them all boisterously, had subsided onto the hearthrug at a stern word from Hagrid. Ron and Hermione found seats and looked at Harry expectantly   
  
There was nothing for it but to tell the whole story, and Harry did just that, starting with seeing Frank Longbottom with Neville and his Gran, while Neville added a few things about his parents. Harry also repeated what Dumbledore had told him last year about what had happened to the Longbottoms.   
  
"I knew 'em," said Hagrid. "I'd just come on as gamekeper here at Hogwarts when they came. Frank's a Gryffindor. He was Head Boy in his seventh year, an' he always made sure the younger students was treated right and felt at home here. Heard abou' what You-Know-Who's followers did to him an' Aurelle, after he got to be an Auror. Yeh know, someone who catches Dark wizards. Never saw 'em again and haven' thought much abou' them for years. But Harry," he went on, leaning over and putting a hand on Harry's shoulder, "if yeh could do anything for 'em—anything to bring 'em back to sanity—it'd be the greatest thing yeh could ever hope ter do. Any wizard 'ud be proud to think he'd done somethin' like that."   
  
"I don't know if I can," said Harry. "So many people have already tried and failed."  
  
"But you're getting help with that, Harry, aren't you?" asked Hermione. "What is Professor Snape teaching you, anyway?"  
  
"Yeah," said Ron, "that's what I want to know. What's it like, being tutored by that old git who hates your guts?" Hagrid, swigging his tea, shot a warning look at Ron over his mug.  
  
Harry sighed deeply. "Worse than any detention I ever had," he admitted. "Except maybe the Forbidden Forest." He described the Tickling Charm and the Drenching Spell, and he and Neville recited together,   
  
"/You may think you can tickle me into submission,  
  
And force me to realize your fondest ambition.  
  
It's true that I'm placed in an awkward position  
  
When faced with the power of your ammunition,  
  
But that only strengthens my sworn opposition  
  
To all you would gain from this grim inquisition/."  
  
"So the two of yeh are bein' tutored together," Hagrid commented. "Neville, why are yeh learnin' all the stuff that Harry's bein' taught? Are yeh th' understudy?"  
  
"Well, it is my Dad we're trying to help," said Neville, "but mostly I'm just keeping Harry company, I guess."  
  
"It would have been a lot worse without Neville there today," said Harry, grinning at Neville. "He was terrific. Almost as amazing as your Dad when I saw him, Neville," he added.  
  
Neville's face changed; he looked close to tears. "You really think he's … ?" he began, and couldn't go on.   
  
"Yes I do," declared Harry. "Inside he's still the man he was when he refused to tell anyone where Voldemort had gone, even under torture. And he's going to know that you stood up to Snape for his sake, because I'm going to tell him, and someday he'll look at you and know who you are." Harry surprised himself as much as anyone with his outburst. He had no idea where his sudden surge of confidence and conviction had come from. But there it was.  
  
"You told off Professor /Snape/?" Ron marveled. Neville nodded a little sheepishly. "Good on you, Neville!" Then he added gloomily, "There goes the House Cup." He was thinking of the points Gryffindor House would lose to Snape's irritation.   
  
Neville explained about Dumbledore forbidding Snape to take off House points. "But I even reminded him that he could give us detention, and he didn't give us any!"  
  
"Yeah, I can't understand why he was so …" Harry paused and took a sip of tea, searching for the right word. "I could tell that he liked having us at his mercy and having a good excuse for making us suffer. But he didn't really let himself go as much as he could have. Neville sort of kept him in line …"  
  
"Wish I'd seen that," muttered Ron.  
  
  
  
" … but I think it was more than that."   
  
"Well, you said it yourself, Harry," Hermione pointed out. "What Professor Snape is doing to you is already worse than any ordinary detention. And we know he's still got his eye on the Defense Against the Dark Arts job. This is a perfect opportunity for him to prove himself, but if he's too hard on you, Professor Dumbledore won't consider him for the post. He might even take this nice, plummy assignment away."   
  
"Oh, Snape wouldn't want that," said Harry. "He's so looking forward to tomorrow."  
  
"/Professor/ Snape to yeh, Harry," Hagrid reminded him.  
  
"But, Hermione, Snape probably knows that Harry won't go running to Dumbledore to snitch on him," argued Ron as if he hadn't heard. "Harry's got too much pride for that."  
  
"Well, he doesn't know that about me," said Neville triumphantly. "In fact I'm supposed to report to Professor Dumbledore regularly about our sessions."  
  
"No pride at all, huh, Neville?" Ron teased him.  
  
"Nope," Neville replied serenely.   
  
"I'm still not sure why Professor Dumbledore chose Professor Snape to tutor me, except that he won't be too easy on me," Harry puzzled. "But I know there's something more, about Snape's past, that Professor Dumbledore's not telling me. I have a feeling I'm going to find out, though Professor Snape's not about to tell me either."  
  
"Well, Harry, just remember that we're all here to do anything we can for you," said Hermione. "It's like Hagrid said, this could be the greatest thing you ever accomplish in your life. We want to do our part for Neville's Mum and Dad."   
  
"Thanks, Hermione. All of you, especially Neville," said Harry. "We can talk more about all this later." He put down his mug and leaned back in Hagrid's armchair, his eyes closing in spite of themselves. In a few minutes he fell asleep, curled up by the fire, and it was almost dinnertime when he woke up and found the room empty except for Hagrid. The half-giant was sitting at the table, peeling potatoes for a solitary supper. He looked up when Harry stirred and stretched. "I reckon I'd better be going," said Harry, standing up. He was a little surprised at himself, falling asleep in the middle of the day without meaning to, like some tired old man, but his appetite had returned and he was ready for dinner. "Thanks for letting me stay."  
  
Hagrid looked at Harry for a long moment. "Yeh've picked a hard road ter walk, Harry," he said.   
  
"Not as hard as— Hagrid, I can't let them down—Frank and Neville—after all they've been through. I won't fail them. I'll do whatever it takes."  
  
"Good man," said Hagrid, nodding. "Tha's the spirit. Come over an' talk to me whenever yeh've a mind to, Harry."  
  
"I will," said Harry. "You'll see a lot of all of us. We want to make this our headquarters, if you'll let us."  
  
"'Course I will, Harry. It'd be an honor. Now go and get yer dinner before it gets any later."  
  
Harry had a lot to think about in bed that night. Inside the curtains, by the dim light of his wand, he looked at the album with photographs of his parents in it that Hagrid had given to him almost four years ago. He knew all the pictures of James and Lily Potter by heart, but he was looking for something he hadn't noticed before, and found it: a picture of Frank Longbottom. It was part of a group photo with lots of people in it, perhaps taken on graduation day at Hogwarts, small and rather blurry at first glance, but clear enough to show a likeness to the wreck of a man he had just met. The eyes of the tall, fair-haired man drew him, and as Harry continued to gaze at him the image grew larger and clearer. Next to Frank stood a shy-looking, round-faced girl who reminded Harry strongly of Neville. She apparently was, or would become, Aurelle Longbottom. As Harry watched, Frank squeezed her around the waist and they both waved to him.  
  
Harry studied the faces of Neville's parents for a long time. Anger against Voldemort and his followers churned in his stomach, and with it came even greater determination to find out who had tortured the Longbottoms, and to rescue the victims at all costs. He felt a sudden, sharp wistfulness that no power on earth could bring back his own parents, but he couldn't honestly wish them in the place of Neville's father and mother.   
  
AN: In Chapter 3, "Something in Autumn," Harry and Neville continue their challenging course of study. A magical device introduced in HP3 enters the story, and a certain Slytherin girl re-enters. 


	4. 3 Something in Autumn

AN: The Drenching Spell owes a lot to my friends' and my childhood pastime of "torturing" each other with the garden hose in the summertime. You'd be surprised how effective it can be. Ever stepped in the shower before it warms up? Look for a reference to /Through the Looking Glass/.  
  
*********************************************  
  
Chapter 3: Something in Autumn  
  
  
  
Yet all the determination Harry could muster did him no good when Snape subjected him to the Tickling Charm in their session the next day. Harry's body turned traitor and refused to obey his will when he attempted to recite the verse he and Neville had learned. Between painful spasms of laughter he could hear Snape's voice saying coolly, "What was that, Potter? I can't quite make out what you're saying. Start over from the beginning, and try to speak more clearly." Even with the charm at half-speed Harry was unable to improve on his performance of the previous day, and that was no longer good enough for Professor Snape.   
  
  
  
He made slightly better progress with the Drenching Spell, which continued to be Neville's Waterloo. Harry found that it worked better not to dry himself off between soakings. The shock of each new blast of icy water was less that way, and soon he was so numb with cold that he couldn't feel it as much in any case.   
  
  
  
Snape informed them at the end of class that since the winter term at Hogwarts would resume the next day, the three of them would meet on a weekly basis. "I will expect to see you this coming Wednesday evening and on subsequent Wednesdays for the foreseeable future," the professor told them. "Until then, your assigment will be to practice the Multiple Tickling Charm and the Drenching Spell on each other." Snape smiled to himself as if at some irresistible private joke as he sipped a glass of ice water. "I'll have some new exercises ready for you when you return."  
  
  
  
Drained as he was after his strenuous hour, Harry found it hard not to give way to discouragement. Neville seemed to be taking it all in stride, buoyed by the knowledge that he had faced his worst fear and survived, his parents might be cured against all odds, and nobody expected him to master the skills Snape was teaching them. He was just along for the ride, so to speak, and he had nothing to lose.   
  
  
  
Harry had no such knowledge to fortify him. Frank was depending on him to come through, and he hated his helplessness in the grip of the Tickling Charm. "I'll never get used to being tickled," he said gloomily to Neville.   
  
  
  
Neville gave him a thoughtful look. "I suppose it wouldn't help if I told you that you have to stop fighting it and relax," he said.   
  
  
  
"I know it, but I can't do it," Harry answered. "I could say the same to you about the Drenching Spell."  
  
  
  
"I know it, but I can't do it," Neville said back to him, and they both grinned half-heartedly.   
  
  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
  
  
At dinner in the Great Hall that evening, the tables were full for the first time since the beginning of the holidays. The Weasley twins were sitting next to Ron, and as Harry helped himself to Yorkshire pudding, he saw Fred (at least he thought it was Fred) jog Ron's elbow, almost sending pumpkin juice down the front of Ron's robes. "Watch it, will you, Fred? I just got these robes back from the wash," Ron complained.  
  
  
  
"Look at that." Harry's eyes followed Fred's pointing finger over to the Slytherin table. Hermione, on Harry's other side, craned her head to look too.   
  
  
  
Draco Malfoy was sitting next to an anemic-looking girl of about fourteen. As they watched, Malfoy put his hand on hers and said something in her ear. She gave him a swift look and a small smile.  
  
  
  
"The little git's got a new girlfriend." George studied the girl's big dark eyes, pale face, and long, straight hair of midnight black. "She's not bad if you like the wispy type. Looks far too good for him if you ask me. Anybody know who she is?"   
  
  
  
"She's in my year," said Ginny Weasley from across the Gryffindor table. "Ivy Parkinson, Pansy's younger sister. We have Potions together. Professor Snape is pretty hard on her, for a Slytherin, but she's an excellent student." Ginny paused and searched her memory. "I think she's related to him. One day she was asking him something about the assignment after class, and I heard her call him 'Uncle.' That's what it sounded like, anyway."  
  
  
  
"I never heard Pansy call him that," Ron remarked. Pansy was also a Slytherin and therefore in Snape's good graces, but he had never singled her out one way or the other.   
  
  
  
Ivy apparently sensed the attention she was getting from the Gryffindor direction. She looked over and her eyes met Harry's for a moment. Her expression was not hostile, merely curious. Harry would have expected anyone who associated with Draco Malfoy to snub him at the slightest opportunity.   
  
  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
  
  
The next day after classes Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville walked over to Hagrid's for tea and treacle tarts, which turned out to be almost edible. Ron and Hermione had agreed to help Harry and Neville with their assignment from Professor Snape, and Hagrid, though wandless, was letting them practice on him too.   
  
  
  
"You start, Harry," Ron said when they had finished their tea. He spread his arms wide and stuck out his chest. "Hit me!"   
  
  
  
Harry had his doubts about the whole business, but he raised his wand and said firmly, "/Titillo/!" The next moment he exclaimed, "Oh!" He dropped his wand and clutched his stomach. Both he and Ron doubled over with laughter, then stopped and straightened up, looking puzzled.   
  
  
  
"Wait a minute. I felt it too," said Harry. "Did I tickle you, Ron?"  
  
  
  
"Well, yeah, for about a second," said Ron.   
  
  
  
"I must not be doing it right," Harry frowned. "Let me try it on you, Neville." He did so, and the same thing happened, but this time Harry hung on to his wand long enough to give both of them a bit more of a workout. "Now you do it, Neville," Harry directed. "Not on me," he added hastily. "Give Ron another taste of it."   
  
  
  
"Always happy to oblige," Ron smirked. "Bring it on." Neville managed a more respectable Tickling Charm than Harry had, but he was no more immune to the backlash effect than Harry had been. Soon both of them were howling.   
  
  
  
"Wow, Neville, you're good. Almost got me to beg you to stop. Let me try this thing." Ron lifted his wand. "What's the word? /Titillo/?" He pointed his wand at Hermione, who looked as if she wanted to protest, but kept her mouth shut. She didn't have much to worry about; Ron was no better at the charm than Harry (which made Harry feel a bit happier about his own ineptitude). Within ten seconds Ron lowered his wand, gasping, "Oh, my ribs."   
  
  
  
"I knew this would happen," Hermione told them all a bit smugly, after she had stopped giggling.   
  
  
  
"Oh, you did, did you," Ron remarked sourly. "And when are you going to see fit to enlighten the rest of us?'  
  
"Oh, I think now would be a good time," Hermione decided, impervious to the sarcasm. "I've been reading about the Multiple Tickling Charm since Harry and Neville told us about it. It always rebounds on the person who performs it. Mastering the Tickling Charm takes great practice and self-discipline."  
  
"But that would mean that Professor Snape …" Harry suddenly realized.  
  
"…isn't a bit ticklish," Neville concluded.   
  
They all thought about that for a moment.   
  
"What about the Drenching Spell, Hermione?" asked Harry at last. "Does that work the same way?"  
  
"Not exactly," Hermione replied. "Actually, it works in the opposite way. A person who performs the Drenching Spell for any length of time gets very hot and dry. The jet of cold water takes a lot of magical power. Nothing advanced or difficult, just draining."  
  
This gave Harry an idea. "Neville," he suggested, "Why don't you try drenching all of us in turn."  
  
"Are you sure you wouldn't mind?" Neville asked, appalled that anyone would ask for that kind of punishment.  
  
"Go ahead," said Ron, and Hermione and Hagrid nodded.  
  
"Well, okay, you asked for it," said Neville. His eyes scanned the room and rested on Hagrid. He raised his wanted and chanted, "/Aquafrigida!/" A blast of water from Neville's wand hit the half-giant, who was soon soaked and shivering. After a few moments Hagrid gasped, "That'll do, Neville … Yeh can stop now." Neville immediately stopped the spell, and Hagrid muttered, "Blimey, tha's cold," through chattering teeth. Harry dried the gamekeeper's dripping bulk with a muttered "/Desicco/," and a wave of his wand.   
  
"We should really do it properly and say the verse while he's drenching us," said Hermione. "Otherwise he'll stop too soon. I'm afraid you're too soft-hearted, Neville," she criticised him.   
  
Neville shivered. "I can't help remembering what's it's like."  
  
"Well, I've memorised the verse," Hermione told him, "so start with me."   
  
Neville did as she asked. "Ow, that's freezing," she squeaked. "/You may think you can drench me into submission/, brrrrr, /and fffforce me to realize your ff-ffondest ambition/, now what comes next …" Hermione hugged herself, shivered, and searched her memory. "How am I supposed to concentrate when you're sss-ssspraying me like that?" she demanded petulantly.   
  
"Don't stop, Neville," Ron coached him.   
  
"/It's t-t-true that I'm placed in an awkward position/," Hermione ploughed on under the deluge, trembling with cold, and rattled through the rest of the verse as quickly as possible. Neville stopped the spell, looking about as relieved as Hermione did. Hermione dried herself off and asked, "How do you feel now, Neville?"   
  
"Kind of warm," Neville admitted, looking flushed. "Could I have a drink of water?"   
  
"No," said Hermione firmly. She had obviously caught on to what Harry had in mind. "Now it's Ron's turn to have you drench him."  
  
"But I don't know the verse," Ron objected.   
  
"I've written it out for you to read," Hermione assured him, handing him a worn sheet of parchment. Ron looked at it dubiously, moving his lips as he read it over to himself. "You can keep that while you're being drenched," she added. "It's not strictly fair, but this is just for practice. You can memorise it for next time."   
  
Ron scanned the verse with his eyes one more time, then looked at Neville and said, "Do your worst." Neville raised his wand, and as soon as the cold water hit Ron (Harry had seen this coming), it knocked the parchment out of his hand. Hagrid bent over for it, since it had landed near his feet, but Hermione said, "No, let Ron pick it up himself." So Ron shielded his face with one hand and groped for the parchment with the other, getting wetter and colder by the second. "Oh nuts," he complained as he held up the limp and dripping sheet. "I c-can hardly read this. /You may think you can drown me in a submarine/ … no, that's not right. Man, is this cold." He squinted at the words again. "/Drench me into submission, And force me to replace your foamiest anteater/… No way. What's with this thing?"   
  
"Wait, I have another one," said Hermione. "Let me waterproof it for you first. Some of these parchments do strange things when you get them wet." She muttered a spell over a new sheet and handed it over, taking care not to intercept the icy showerbath.   
  
"/Realize your fondest ambition/," Ron ground out through his teeth, glaring at Hermione. After he had finished saying the verse at last and Neville had brought his watery ordeal to an end, Ron accused her, "You did that on purpose!"   
  
"I really didn't, Ron. Sorry. I just forgot, I promise." She hastily performed the drying spell on him. "Now I have to write out another one. That one was supposed to be for Hagrid." She sat down at the table and busied herself with more parchment, quills, and ink.   
  
"Boy, is it hot in here," Neville complained, edging away from the fire and trying to get some air inside his robes.  
  
"I reckon you're ready to cool off now," Harry suggested.   
  
"I wouldn't mind," said Neville.   
  
"Here it comes, then. /Aquafrigida/!"   
  
"Aahh, that feels refreshing," Neville sighed as the water from Harry's wand splashed him from head to foot.   
  
"Don't forget to say the verse, then."  
  
"Oh, right." He did so. "That was easy. No hurry about stopping the spell; I'm quite comfortable." Harry stopped it anyway.   
  
"You should have let me do Neville, Harry. I'm still half frozen," Ron pointed out. "And besides, Neville never did it to you." He picked up the discarded parchment, dry now but water-puckered, and tossed it on the table by Hermione. She glanced at it and said, "I don't need that. It can go in the fire."  
  
"Wait. Let me see it," said Harry, and picked it up. The ink from the neatly lettered lines had run and smeared and sent feathery, spidery filaments of blackness over some, but not all, of the original writing, which showed through legibly enough in certain spots. Harry stared at the result in disbelief. "Ron, everybody, listen to this:  
  
"/Your sprinkling can drowned me in one submarine,  
  
And forced me to replace your foamiest anteater.  
  
If strudel's improving a newlywed possum,  
  
Where fade wilted flowers of years' mangled blossom,  
  
Buttercream spreads from my shoes top to bottom,  
  
Till toads underground grin from something in autumn/."   
  
After a moment of stunned silence broken only by a nervous giggle from Neville, Ron exclaimed, "That's not what it said when I saw it. I swear there was nothing about sprinkling cans!" He looked where Harry was pointing, and insisted, "It must have changed."  
  
"Of course it changed," agreed Hermione, "but how could it change so it still rhymes and scans? Except for the second line," she amended. She compared the verse she had just written out with the version in Harry's hand. "You can hex a parchment, of course, but how clever would it have to be to change   
  
  
  
/It's true that I'm placed in an awkward position to   
  
If strudel's improving a newlywed possum/,   
  
even though the switch makes no sense at all?"   
  
Harry's eye had been absently fixed on a corner of the parchment where a worn fold line had started to tear. For some reason it made him remember the taste of sweets from Honeydukes, the sweetshop at Hogsmeade, and the heft of them in his pocket.   
  
Suddenly he knew why.   
  
"Hermione," he said quietly, "where did you get that parchment?"  
  
"Why, I suppose I got it on Diagon Alley, Flourish and Blotts or somewhere." She paused, studying the parchment itself this time and not the writing. "No. I remember now. At the end of last year, I was in the corridor near Professor Moody's office—what used to be Professor Moody's office—at least we all thought it was—after it had been emptied out. I was passing a suit of armor when I dropped my book bag. While I was picking up my books, I found a piece of blank parchment sort of wedged behind the foot of the armor. I can always use more parchment, so I put it in my bag with some other sheets I had. This must be it. I remember it was a bit worn around the edges."  
  
"Near Professor Moody's old office," Harry repeated. "That fits." He laid the parchment on the table, tapped it with his wand, and announced, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!" The words on the parchment vanished, and in their place appeared,   
  
  
  
/Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs   
  
Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers   
  
Are proud to present …/  
  
  
  
"It's the Marauder's Map," said Harry with satisfaction. "I wondered whether I'd ever see it again. Fred and George gave it to me and it's been confiscated twice."  
  
"Cool!" said Ron, studying the floor plan of the school with the with the secret passages and the labeled dots, some moving and some stationary, representing exact locations of the people inhabiting Hogwarts at that very moment. Hagrid and Neville came closer to see. Hagrid whistled. "I can see why yeh wanted it back, Harry. This is a real find."  
  
Harry tapped the parchment again and said, "Mischief managed!" The map disappeared and the transmogrified verse returned. "I think that Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs are responsible for changing the words." He gave the map another poke and asked, "Aren't you?"   
  
More words appeared at the bottom of the parchment. "/Mr. Padfoot regrets that we didn't have time to do a better job before the parchment was dried/."  
  
"/Mr. Prongs would like to add that Mr. Wormtail, who altered the second line, isn't very good at thinking up rhymes. And to remind all present that it's not easy to find a rhyme for 'bottom'/."  
  
"/Mr. Moony directs your attention to the fourth line of the poem, which in his humble opinion is the height of eloquence/."  
  
"/Mr. Wormtail informs you that Mr. Moony is partial to his own contribution to the piece, but that other parts of it are equally worthy/."  
  
The statements stayed visible for a few moments, and then faded away.   
  
"Harry, d'yeh know who them characters are?" asked Hagrid, nodding toward the Marauder's Map. "Moony an' the rest of 'em?"  
  
"Yes," said Harry, looking down at the parchment. Something in his voice made Hagrid add, "Yeh don't have to tell me, Harry, if yeh'd rather not."  
  
"Maybe later," said Harry. "Hermione, I owe you one for this. You too, Ron."  
  
"No, you don't, Harry," Hermione answered. "The map found its way back to you for its own reasons. It might help you in your mission. I just hope you're not planning to use it for anything frivolous." She was obviously remembering Harry's secret, illegal trips to Hogsmeade in his third year at Hogwarts.  
  
"Just let me hit you once with the Drenching Spell, and we'll call it square," Ron proposed.   
  
Harry drew a deep breath. "All right."   
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
  
  
On Wednesday evening Professor Snape had three beakers of potion ready for them, set out in a row on the table with two small cups. The first one fizzed, the second one stank, and the third one smoked. "I have prepared these brews especially for your use in this class," Snape informed them. "They are short-acting and highly potent, and must be handled carefully. We will begin with the one one your left." He poured a small amount of it into each cup, and set the cups in front of Harry and Neville. "You first, Potter. Drink up."   
  
  
  
Harry looked at his portion of potion suspiciously. "What is it, sir? What does it do?"   
  
  
  
"You'll know soon enough, Potter. You must learn to be prepared for the unknown and unexpected."   
  
  
  
Harry knew there was no getting around it. He shrugged and picked up the cup of liquid, which hissed faintly. Before drinking it, he mentally reviewed the Opposition Verse and tried to fix it in his thoughts, although /Your sprinkling can drowned me in one submarine/ kept intruding into his mind. Then he took a deep breath and downed the potion. It prickled on the way down, and as soon as it reached his stomach he felt it radiate to every part of his body and spread over his skin in a violent itching sensation. He shifted in his chair and started to scr—  
  
  
  
"No scratching, Potter," commanded Professor Snape. "The more you scratch, the longer it lasts."   
  
  
  
Harry clenched his hands in his lap and started reciting, "You may think you can itch me into submission, oh man this is awful …" He managed to get through it, but the itching didn't stop, though it had grown a little less intense. He hunched his shoulders and furtively rubbed them against the back of his chair, hoping that the ban on scratching applied to fingernails only.   
  
  
  
"The itching will subside in a few minutes if you don't scratch, Potter. Now, Longbottom, it's your turn for the Itching Potion," Professor Snape continued the lesson. Neville looked at his cup in dismay, then sighed and gulped it down. "Yow," he remarked as the itching started. "It's like mosquito bites on top of chicken pox. You may think you can itch—ooh, it's worse than poison ivy."  
  
  
  
"If you scratch, you have to start again from the beginning," Snape told him sternly. Neville unfortunately forgot and scratched in the middle of the last line, after getting through the first five, and had to say the whole thing over again.   
  
  
  
"Now," said Professor Snape, "we will move to the second potion." He poured a dose into each cup, and the rotten-potato stench was overpowering. Harry had a feeling he knew what this potion did, and he wanted no part of it. He reminded himself about the purpose of this whole enterprise. He still wanted no part of it, but resolved to face it anyway.   
  
  
  
"I'll go first this time if you want, Harry," Neville offered.  
  
  
  
"No thanks, Neville, I'd rather get it over with," Harry answered grimly. He was already in the process of screwing himself up to it and didn't want to have to start over. He took a deep breath, held his nose, and bolted the contents of the cup as quickly as possible. It tasted even more vile than it smelled, and when he got it down it felt still worse. An upwelling of terrible nausea convinced him that he was about to throw up, and he looked around frantically for a suitable container.   
  
  
  
"Under the influence of this potion you will feel deathly ill, Potter, but never actually vomit," came Snape's cool voice through Harry's distress, "so you won't need a basin."  
  
  
  
Harry swallowed heavily and tried to collect himself. He clamped his lips shut and took a few shallow breaths through his nose. "/You may think you can sicken me into submission/," he mumbled, and you might be right, he thought, doubling over and panting. He struggled through another line and noticed that he was drooling, put a hand over his mouth, and tried not to retch, knowing that it would do no good. His vision swam with dizziness. Fixing his eyes on the empty cup before him, he concentrated on finishing the verse, and when he had done so, to his enormous relief, the sickness receded to the point where he felt merely rotten. He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and breathing hard. /Never again/, he thought. /I never want to do that again/.   
  
  
  
Watching Neville take the potion was nearly as bad. As Harry saw Neville turn green and break out in a sweat, his own queasy stomach heaved in sympathy. The tickling, the drenching, and the itching had been tough to cope with, but also an amusing game: a stretch, a challenge, sort of like Quidditch. But this was serious misery.   
  
  
  
Neville appeared to come to the same conclusion. After he had lurched and groaned his way through the lines he had to say, the three of them all sat in subdued silence for a few moments. Even Professor Snape had nothing to say, snide or otherwise, about the merits of his pupils' performance. Neville finally said in a faint, choked voice, "Sir, I don't think you should do that again. If you do, I'll have to inform Professor Dumbledore. You promised you wouldn't curse anybody."  
  
  
  
Snape pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Perhaps I made the Sickening Potion stronger than necessary," he conceded. "I will give you a short rest before proceeding to the third potion." (Harry had actually forgotten that there was a third potion.) "In the meantime, Potter, Longbottom, you may report on the results of your practice."  
  
  
  
Harry and Neville looked at each other. "We can't do the Tickling Charm without feeling it ourselves," Harry admitted.   
  
  
  
"Ah yes," said Professor Snape, "it always rebounds upon its user. There are simple ways to accommodate that fact, which I would encourage you to discover on your own. And the Drenching Spell?"  
  
  
  
"I got through it with no trouble," Neville said proudly. "After I did it to three other people," he added. "It evens out."  
  
  
  
"Indeed," said Professor Snape. "Your assignment is to continue to practice the same exercises. Now we will proceed to the third and final potion."  
  
  
  
Harry told himself that he could get through one more trial, although he didn't feel up to it. Nothing could be as bad as the Sickening Potion, could it? And if it was, Neville would put a stop to it. Tired of speculating about what the next unpleasant sensation in store from him might be, he drank the smoking brew almost without thinking. At first nothing seemed to happen, though he felt a growing apprehension. The sense of foreboding continued to increase, until all his surroundings took on a look of menace, the shadows threatened to congeal into dreadful monsters, and he was certain that something even worse was sneaking up on him from behind. Professor Snape, a towering, sinister presence, looked ready to sprout horns, fangs, and a forked tail. As if that weren't enougn, Harry also felt as if he were about to fall from a dizzying height. He remembered the growing panic he had felt in the weeks before the first task of the Triwizard Tournament the previous year, but this, in addition to the sense of imminent danger, carried an overtone of supernatural horror. He could almost hear the creepy horror-movie music seeping into his bones and sapping his will and courage. Harry shivered, stiffened his spine, and resisted the urge to look behind him. "You may think you can panic me into submission—"  
  
  
  
Declaiming those words of defiance helped to steady him. He knew the danger was an illusion, though the panic was real enough. He was grateful for Neville's presence beside him, or at least he would have been if he could have shaken the feeling that Neville, who looked innocent enough, carried a concealed knife and was getting ready to stab him as soon as he looked away. He got through the verse without peeking behind him or clutching the table to keep from falling. Slowly the room returned to its normal aspect, the shadows were only shadows, the floor felt solid under his feet, and Professor Snape appeared no more alarming than usual.   
  
  
  
Neville had watched Harry take the Panic Potion, but couldn't see exactly what it had done. He gamely drank it himself, but a whimper escaped him and his eyes widened with terror. He looked around the room and did a double take when he saw Harry (who must have looked to him like a mean teacher or something), but all the same, he fumbled for Harry's hand under the table and gripped it hard. Harry squeezed back. Neville stuttered badly when he began the verse, then cleared his throat and started over with better results. It was like the first day the three of them had been together, when Neville had confronted Professor Snape, and probably about equally frightening.   
  
  
  
Finally it was over, and Snape excused them with hardly another word. He looked pensive, and the smug satisfaction he had taken in his tutoring assignment seemed to have evaporated. Harry wondered if even Professor Snape himself thought he had gone too far this time. Perhaps his potions had succeeded better than he had planned.   
  
  
  
Harry and Neville, both rather shaky about the knees, helped each other up the stairs and through the portrait hole (password "Frumious Bandersnatch") to the Gryffindor common room, where Ron and Hermione were waiting for them. Most of the other Gryffindors had gone to their dorm rooms, but a few were studying near the fire. "How was it?" asked Hermione, keeping her voice low.   
  
  
  
"Awful," whispered Neville. "It was the worst yet. Professor Snape gave us a potion that made us horribly sick. That was after he made us horribly itchy. Then he finished up by making us horribly afraid."  
  
  
  
"I still don't feel well," mumbled Harry, sinking weakly into a chair.   
  
  
  
"Me neither," Neville sighed, scratching absently. "What we need is some fresh camomile."  
  
  
  
"Fresh camomile?" echoed Ron blankly.   
  
  
  
"That's what my Gran would say. She's a famous herbalist, you know; she's been teaching me since I was old enough to trample her herb garden."  
  
  
  
"That must be why you're so good at Herbology," Hermione concluded.   
  
  
  
"Probably. Anyway, Gran always insists that fresh, living herbs are much healthier for you than magical potions made out of complicated combinations of old, dried-out, exotic, outlandish, silly ingredients."   
  
  
  
"That must be why you're so bad at Potions," reasoned Ron.  
  
  
  
"Probably. I know there's plenty of camomile in the greenhouse—the only problem is how to get it. We're not allowed out there at this hour."  
  
  
  
"Say no more," declared Ron. "I'll just borrow Harry's invisibility cloak and be back before you have a chance to miss me."   
  
  
  
"You have an invisibility cloak, Harry?" asked Neville in amazement.   
  
  
  
"Yes, but we won't need it. I remember the Summoning Charm we learned last year and I think I can still do it, especially for something that will settle my stomach. Just tell me where the camomile is in the greenhouse and what it looks like."  
  
  
  
Soon the camomile was obtained through an opened window, Hermione and Neville had put their heads together over its preparation, and the two who needed it were sipping fresh camomile tea and feeling vastly better for it. Ron tried it but didn't like the taste.  
  
  
  
******************************  
  
AN: So is Snape really teaching them something, or is he just amusing himself? Who can say? I always thought nausea the most horrible sensation in the world.  
  
I had already decided that the Marauders' Map would come into the story, but the way it actually did was a total surprise until it took shape as I wrote. The Sprinkling Can Verse was fun to write, and easier than the original Opposition Verse; I had the help of Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. Stay tuned for Chapter 4, "A Coward's Life," where Frank Longbottom makes a surprising revelation. 


	5. 4 A Coward's Life

AN: I was about as nervous as Harry when it came time to "meet" Frank Longbottom. I was beginning to feel out of my depth. A comic fantasy about … mental illness? Excuse me, but what made me think I could pull that one off? But Harry insisted that I give it my best shot. The allusion to /Monty Python and the Holy Grail/ was my own idea; I put it in months before I ever read Fred Weasley's hysterical "Hoard of the Rings" movie script.  
  
******************************  
  
Chapter 4: A Coward's Life  
  
Harry was planning to accompany Neville and his Gran when they next went to visit Frank Longbottom, as he had done the first time. Several of the physicians at Mungo's had been alerted, and would have staff members standing by to render whatever assistance they could.   
  
  
  
Harry had thought about how he would proceed when he saw Neville's Dad again. He concluded that the Drenching Spell was his best bet against the Curser, as he had made the most progress toward mastering it, but he wasn't sure how it would work with a ghost in someone else's mind. He didn't have a Plan B. He was sure that administering a potion to an apparition was beyond his abilities. The truth was that he still felt unprepared and out of his depth. Neither Snape nor Dumbledore had given him any specific advice at this point. He was on his own.   
  
  
  
On Sunday afternoon, Lucretia Longbottom, the famous herbalist, arrived at Hogwarts in her best lace dress, red handbag, and vulture hat to take Neville and Harry to St. Mungo's. She looked kindly at Harry. "Good to see you back on your feet, young Potter," she told him. "I was a bit worried about you."  
  
  
  
"I'm fine, thanks, Mrs. Longbottom."  
  
  
  
Lowering her voice, she added, "You're the best thing that's happened to my son in a dozen years." She turned to her grandson. "Straighten your tie, Neville. Your father will want to see you looking your best."   
  
  
  
"He will?" Neville asked in surprise. Probably his Gran wasn't given to such verbal flights of fancy.  
  
  
  
"Well, he would if he were himself," she said tartly, "so it's best to be prepared."  
  
  
  
"Yes, Gran," said Neville, tugging his necktie.   
  
  
  
They went by Floo powder, from a fireplace in a small ante-room off the Great Hall. Neville went first, Harry second, and Mrs. Longbottom followed last. Harry made sure to pronounce "Mungo's Hospital" as clearly as possible, so as not to end up somewhere else (Honeyduke's, perhaps?), though he was even more nervous about this visit than the previous one, since more was expected of him.   
  
  
  
Blue-uniformed aides met them in the lobby at their destination, and all too soon for Harry, they had arrived at the small room where Frank Longbottom lived out his borderline existence. A short, bearded wizard standing by the door shook hands with the three of them in turn. "I'm Dr. Leech; I know you Longbottoms well, and this must be Harry Potter. I wish you the best of success. We've been able to do very little for Frank, I'm sorry to say, but if you need anything, just ask. Today is one of his more difficult days." He waved them inside.   
  
  
  
Frank Longbottom sat on a chair by his bed, his greying head in his hands. Neville went over to him and touched his arm. "Dad?"  
  
  
  
No response.   
  
  
  
"Dad, Harry Potter is here."  
  
  
  
Frank lifted his face, his eyes focused on Harry, and his mouth formed the word Potter. He reached out for Harry's hand, took it, and indicated that Harry should sit on the bed. He slowly removed the Trempath from his pocket. Harry saw dark, muddy colours swirling sluggishly inside it. He met Frank's eyes again, and said, "I'm ready."  
  
  
  
Pain lanced through Harry's scar when he took the Trempath. That at least he was prepared for. An image formed in his mind of the faceless, hooded Curser meting out torment with its wand. Without hesitation he began the familiar litany. "/You may think you can torture me into submission/ …" At the third line, he could hear Frank reciting along with him in a hesitant whisper, and by the end the man's voice sounded clear and strong. Together they finished, "/But that only strengthens my sworn opposition/To all you would gain from this grim inquisition/."  
  
  
  
Those were the first words Frank Longbottom had spoken aloud in over ten years.   
  
  
  
The two of them exchanged a look of grim satisfaction. Harry's scar still burned like fire, but he had more or less come to terms with the feeling. After all, it wasn't as bad as the Tickling Charm or the Sickening Potion. Now he had to figure out how to take the next step: to make the Curser real enough to his vision that he could give as good as he got. Harry felt for his wand with his right hand, and summoning his nerve, gripped the Trempath as tightly as he could with his left. Yes, it was working; his scar felt white-hot, and he could actually see a ghostly outline in a corner of the room, the spectre that haunted Frank Longbottom night and day. "Stand clear!" Harry gasped to the two relatives watching the scene with breathless fascination. He drew another breath, raised his wand, pressed the Trempath to his forehead, and in blinding pain screamed, "/Aquafrigida/!"  
  
  
  
Harry held the Trempath pressed to his scar to keep the Curser as solid as possible while he played the jet of water over it. The pain stopped almost immediately, because the Curser, caught completely by surprise, dropped its wand and cringed under the blast.   
  
  
  
"/Yes/!" Harry yelled. It was going just as he'd hoped; thanks to the power of the Trempath, the Curser was vulnerable to the Drenching Spell.  
  
  
  
Through his elation Harry slowly realized that he was feeling a vast relief: not just his own relief from a few minutes of pain, but Frank Longbottom's relief from an eternity of it. A sense of comfort and safety spread through them both. Harry held his wand in one hand and the Trempath in the other, so the two could not clasp hands, but they were linked by the Trempath, and as their eyes met again Frank was smiling.   
  
  
  
"Thank you, Harry Potter," he said.   
  
  
  
"It's what I'm here for," said Harry. He hoped to keep the Curser at bay long enough to ask Frank a few questions. He shifted to get more comfortable, moving the Trempath down to a spot near his heart, and switching his wand from his right hand to his left. It was still awkward, but Harry lost no time in getting down to business.   
  
  
  
"Who did this to you?" he asked.   
  
  
  
At this question Frank Longbottom shrank into himself, sinking his head into his hands again. Through the Trempath Harry received a mixed impression of hurt, anger, resentment and confusion. Frank's voice came out muffled, through his hands.   
  
  
  
"Told. Already told. Nobody believed me."  
  
  
  
"Tell me, Frank."   
  
  
  
"Not Crouch. Not Crouch. Everyone thought it was Barty's son. He tried, but couldn't go through with it. Too young. Not hardened enough."  
  
  
  
"Who was it, Frank?" Harry asked again.   
  
  
  
Longbottom grew more agitated. He rocked back and forth and his voice rose in pitch. "Died a hero's death. Died a hero's death. It couldn't have been."  
  
  
  
"Who died a hero's death?" Suddenly Harry knew. But the Drenching Spell had drained his strength and he had to stop, hoping fervently that the Curser would take time to recover.   
  
  
  
"Severus came. Severus came. Told him, but no one believed him either. Died a hero's death. That's all they said. Died a hero's death."  
  
  
  
"You told Severus Snape?"  
  
  
  
Frank nodded. "He came—like you. Years ago."   
  
  
  
Harry said slowly, again, "Who did this to you, Frank?"  
  
  
  
"Died a hero's death!" A cry of despair.  
  
  
  
"Frank, who died a hero's death?" Harry could see the Curser collecting itself to resume the attack. He hastily sent another jet of cold water toward the apparition.   
  
  
  
"Pettigrew. Peter Pettigrew. Died trying to save James and Lily, they told me. But he came. He came. He said, Frank, where's Lord Voldemort? Where is he? And then he did—did—and he said no one would ever know who—and then Aurelle—he tortured her too—" Frank wept behind his hands.  
  
  
  
Harry was reaching the end of his strength. He could no longer sustain the tremendous effort required to disable the Curser and question Frank Longbottom at the same time. But he had to, long enough to make Frank understand one important thing.   
  
  
  
"Frank, listen to me. Peter Pettigrew did not die a hero's death. He betrayed my parents amd their dearest friend. He is still living. I have seen him. He is the servant of Lord Voldemort. Peter Pettigrew did not die a hero's death, Frank. I believe Peter Pettigrew did this to you. It's just what the Pettigrew I know would do."  
  
  
  
Frank brought his hands down, showing a tear-streaked face. "You believe it? He didn't die a hero's death?"  
  
  
  
"I do believe it, Frank. Pettigrew is alive, living a coward's life. Your memory is not at fault. You are not mistaken." That was all Harry had strength for, but it was enough. The Curser brought up his wand and Harry felt his scar pulse with pain. Frank Longbottom drew a long breath and took the Trempath from Harry, accepting his burden once more. He looked much the same as he had when Harry had first entered the room. But the set of his shoulders was different. At long last he had been vindicated, and no longer carried the weight of knowing what no one else believed. He looked like a man ready to fight for health, if given a chance.   
  
  
  
"I'll be back, Frank Longbottom," said Harry to the bent head. One hand came down and gripped Harry's in thanks and farewell.   
  
  
  
Neville and Lucretia Longbottom were both crying unashamedly. "Harry, you did it! You did it!" Neville exclaimed. His grandmother pulled Harry close to her and shed tears all over him. "You did that just the way your father would have done, young Potter. I knew James very well." She mopped at her face with a lace handkerchief. "And I thought I might never live to hear another word from my Frank—" She blew her nose.   
  
  
  
Harry decided that he didn't need to remind them that Frank was not all better. He had made enough progress for one day. He said, "Neville, I haven't seen your Mum yet. You're going to visit her today too, aren't you?"  
  
  
  
"Are you sure you want to see her, Harry? Will you be all right?" Neville asked.  
  
  
  
"Yes, it's time," answered Harry firmly. "Just give me a good drenching, will you, Neville?" he added. "That would really hit the spot. I'm roasting."  
  
  
  
"Sure thing," said Neville. "Aquafrigida!" He soaked Harry thoroughly. He and has Gran said goodbye to Frank, but he appeared not to hear them. He had retreated to his world of private suffering.   
  
  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
  
  
Aurelle Longbottom lay in bed with her eyes closed. She had been unconscious for weeks, Dr. Leech told them, and they had not been able to rouse her, afraid that strong measures might do more harm than good. Comparing the woman on the bed with his memory of her picture, Harry saw that her resemblance to Neville had diminished with the roundness of her face. Her cheeks were sunken and she looked impossibly frail.   
  
  
  
"We're here, dearest," Neville's Gran told her, taking a limp hand. "Frank is going to be all right. He's getting the help he needs from this young man." At the mention of her husband's name, Aurelle's face changed; without moving a muscle, she almost seemed to be smiling.   
  
  
  
"Mum, this is Harry Potter," Neville said to her.   
  
  
  
"I'm here, Mrs. Longbottom. Aurelle," Harry stammered, feeling horribly awkward and embarrassed. With her husband it had been simpler; Frank Longbottom had asked for help and Harry had given it. But this sleeping woman's remote stillness made a wall that kept him at a distance. He wasn't about to start waving his wand and muttering incantations over her; it seemed rude and familiar, and hadn't everything already been tried, anyway, by trained professionals? He hesitated even to touch her or take her hand.   
  
  
  
"I can't reach her. I don't know how to reach her," said Harry.   
  
  
  
"It may not be your place even to try, young Potter," the old lady said gently. Then she asked him, "What you told Frank about Pettigrew—is it true?"   
  
  
  
"I wouldn't lie to him, Mrs. Longbottom. It's quite true—Pettigrew is alive. It's a long story." Harry had a question on his mind too. "Professor Snape. What do you remember about him coming to see Frank?"   
  
  
  
Lucretia Longbottom flushed and pressed her lips together. "I was informed that Severus was one of the people assigned to work with Frank, but nobody would tell me what came of it. They just put me off and said that Severus had done his best. I knew that something had gone far wrong, but not what it was, whether Severus was at fault, or whether they should even have trusted him in the first place." She put down Aurelle's hand, which she had been holding, and turned away.   
  
  
  
Harry recalled snippets of information Dumbledore had given him the previous year. "Unfortunately, the Longbottoms' evidence was—given their condition—none too reliable." And about Snape: "He turned spy for us, at great personal risk."   
  
  
  
Neville was saying, "I never knew that, Gran."   
  
  
  
"I thought it was one of those things best forgotten, Neville," she replied, still with her back to them. Her shoulders moved in a sigh. "You two should be getting back to school."  
  
  
  
"Before we go," said Harry, "I want to ask both of you to let me tell Professor Snape what Frank just told me, before you say anything about it to anyone else, even Professor Dumbledore. Snape deserves to know first."   
  
  
  
"Very well, young Potter, we'll leave it in your hands," Neville's Gran agreed, turning back and putting a hand on her daughter-in-law's thin cheek.   
  
  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
  
  
It was time for another look at the photo album. Harry had gone straight to bed when dinner was over, and Neville had told Ron and Hermione not to ask him any questions. Hermione had given him a small bottle with a dose of hellebore in it "just in case," and it was sitting on his nightstand.   
  
  
  
Tonight Harry studied the picture of Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, James Potter, and Sirius Black that he had found near the beginning of the album—the Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs of the Marauder's Map. The four of them had been friends and co-conspirators at Hogwarts; Lupin was a werewolf and the other three had secretly become Animagi to keep him company. Pettigrew had learned to take the form of a rat.   
  
  
  
Looking at the weak-chinned, ratlike face of Peter Pettigrew, also known as Wormtail, Harry considered putting its eyes out and perhaps cutting the whole figure out of the picture. It wasn't the first time, either. Wormtail was culpable not only for the death of Harry's parents, but also for Voldemort's return to power. And now, thinking about what Frank Longbottom and his family had suffered at Wormtail's hands, Harry vented his anger and hatred by indulging in violent revenge fantasies. He ground his teeth when he remembered how he had spared Pettigrew's life and allowed him to escape, but because of it the miserable traitor was still alive and could be tormented. Harry decided he would start Wormtail off with a dose of the Sickening Potion, with a dollop of Panic Potion to give it extra wallop. Then he would try the Tickling Charm. Then he would take a page out of Voldemort's book and use the Imperius Curse to force Wormtail to mutilate himself, like the song about Brave Brave Sir Robin, who was not afraid to be killed in nasty ways, except that Wormtail would be very afraid and beg for mercy. He would finish off for the day with a blast of the Cruciatus curse, and then leave Wormtail's untreated wounds to putrefy and become gangrenous …  
  
  
  
Harry noticed his heart pounding and his hands shaking, and he felt hot and feverish the way he had after his first visit to Longbottom. He had been priding himself on how well he had come through the rigours of the day, and thinking that he might not need the hellebore at all. At this rate he would never get to sleep without it.   
  
  
  
Harry's thoughts turned to Professor Snape, and his anger ebbed, pushed aside by devouring curiosity. He had to find out more about Snape's part in the sequence of events. But before he talked to the Potions Master himself, there was someone else he wanted to consult.  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
  
  
"I need to talk to Ivy Parkinson," said Harry the next morning over his breakfast sausages. It would have been easier to find an opportunity to see Pansy alone, since they had Potions together, but he and Pansy couldn't stand each other. Besides, he suspected that he could learn more from Ivy.  
  
  
  
"She's right over there," said Ron, pointing with his knife and almost dripping marmalade on the tablecloth. "Sitting next to that Malfoy character, as usual. Just go over and take her by the arm, why don't you, and tell him you need to borrow her for a while."  
  
  
  
Hermione was reading her copy of the Daily Prophet, just arrived by owl post. She said, "I see her in the library quite often. I've got loads of Arithmancy research to do there this week, so I'll stake it out for you. As soon as I see her come in I'll tip you off."  
  
  
  
"Thanks, Hermione." Harry could tell that Ron and Hermione wanted badly to ask him about yesterday, but Neville must have been stern with them.  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
  
  
That very afternoon Hermione found Harry and Ron working on their essays for Care of Magical Creatures in the Gryffindor common room. Ron had decided to research nifflers, and Harry had got permission from Hagrid to do a paper on Animagi, although technically they were humans, not magical creatures. He had to promise that he had no immediate plans to become an Animagus. "Ivy's in the library, Harry," Hermione murmured to Harry. "This is your chance." When he got there—yes, there was Ivy, wearing her long black hair in a single braid down her back, but Malfoy had joined her at one of the tables. Harry slipped behind a bookshelf and maneuvered to a spot behind Draco's back, where Ivy was facing him. He sat down as unobtrusively as possible and opened a book. He listened to the murmur of their voices, Ivy's tones quiet and even, and Draco's drawl sounding bored and petulant. "I can't find anything here. This is all a waste of time, anyway," Harry heard him complain. "I could make something up, and that great oaf would never know the difference." Harry knew that Malfoy must be talking about Hagrid, and a surge of inconvenient anger made him grip his book harder than necessary. Ivy calmly turned pages and helped Malfoy find what he needed. It occurred to Harry that Draco had attached himself to Ivy so he could make use of her in just this way, to bolster his sagging marks. Ginny had mentioned that Ivy was the best student of her year. Harry looked up, caught Ivy's eyes on him, and looked back at her, trying to convey his wish to speak to her alone. She gave him a small nod and went back to assisting her fellow Slytherin. Harry looked down at his book and actually managed to take in some of what he was reading. "There is no single, foolproof method for distinguishing an Animagus from an ordinary animal …"  
  
  
  
In about a half an hour Ivy and Draco left the library, and Harry wondered what he ought to do next. He read another page which explained that to become an Animagus, you had to learn a great deal about the animal you chose to transform into, and actually spend time in the company of a member of that species. A chart grouped different animal types into "recommended" and "not recommended." Slugs were not recommended; neither were elephants, for practical reasons. The next page gave information about a wizard named Sylvanus Greenleaf, who had succeeded in becoming the only known Vegemagus. He had turned himself into an oak tree, lost his leaves, and returned to his human shape completely bald, obviously not recommended.  
  
In the middle of a paragraph about rodent Animagi (like Wormtail, who deserved to die a thousand deaths) Harry raised his eyes and noticed that a book was still sitting on the table where Ivy and Draco had been studying. In a few more moments Ivy returned and collected the book, and without looking at Harry, disappeared into the stacks. Harry waited about two minutes, and then followed her. The route she had taken led to a curtained window, and he opened the drapes to find Ivy curled up cosily in the window seat as if she had been there for hours. Harry seated himself opposite her and let the drape fall closed again. Winter daylight sifted onto them through the diamond-paned window. "I need to know about Professor Snape, Ivy," he told her without preliminaries, "and I heard that he was your uncle."  
  
"He is, Harry," she answered. "What do you want to know?"  
  
"Something happened about ten years ago," Harry said carefully. "What's the earliest thing you remember about him?"  
  
  
  
"Uncle Severus came to stay with us when I was very little," she anwered readily. "I must have been three. Mother told Pansy and me, 'You must play quietly so your uncle can rest. He has been very ill.' He stayed in bed for weeks, and a doctor came to visit him quite often.  
  
  
  
"Even after he was allowed out of bed, he had to rest a great deal. I used to visit him in his study, and he would teach me things. Pansy sometimes came too, but she wasn't really interested in most of what we did—she just didn't want to be left out, especially when I learned to make my food change colors. Not many people know that Pansy's only my half-sister. She and Uncle Severus aren't blood relations. Pansy's father died before she was born, but my mother kept his name and gave it to both Pansy and me after she married my father."   
  
  
  
After a silence Harry said, "There's more, isn't there?"  
  
  
  
"Yes, there's more," Ivy said. But she appeared reluctant to share it.   
  
  
  
"You must wonder why I'm suddenly so interested in Professor Snape's past," Harry prodded.  
  
  
  
Ivy shrugged. "You have your reasons. I know more about you than you think, Harry Potter. In fact, I know a lot of things people think I'm not supposed to. In my first year, I found your Polyjuice potion in the girls' toilet. After all of you were finished with it there was a bit left and I took it away in a bottle. I saved it, but so far I haven't used it. I've interviewed all the ghosts I could find at Hogwarts. They love to talk to students and it's amazing what they know. In my second year, I saw you use the secret passage into Hogsmeade."  
  
  
  
Harry turned all this over in his mind. "I think you're telling me that you know something about Professor Snape that you're not supposed to know."   
  
  
  
"Do I ever," she agreed. "I don't know what he would do if he knew I knew, but I expect he wouldn't be a bit pleased."  
  
  
  
"So if you tell me, you want to be sure you aren't put in, let's say, an awkward position."  
  
  
  
"Rather."   
  
  
  
"By me."  
  
  
  
"Quite."  
  
  
  
"But if you weren't going to trust me with what you know, you wouldn't have told me so much already."  
  
  
  
"No." For the first time the self-possessed Ivy looked uneasy, realizing that she had indeed committed herself.   
  
  
  
There was nothing more for Harry to say, so he waited, peeking out between the drapes to make sure no one else was listening.  
  
  
  
Ivy drew up her black-robed knees and rested her small chin between them. "Uncle Severus got stronger and left us after about a year, I think, and came to Hogwarts. One night a while after he had gone my parents had a guest for dinner, someone who worked at Mungo's Hospital. After I'd been sent to bed, I got up to get a drink of water."  
  
  
  
"Drink of water. Right."  
  
  
  
"Staying awake in bed can make you really thirsty."  
  
  
  
"I know."  
  
  
  
"I heard voices downstairs, and sure enough, Mother and Father were talking about Uncle Severus with the lady from Mungo's. No one had ever told me why he was ill; it was just the way he was. So I stayed to listen. The lady said that Uncle Severus had tried to do something for someone named Longbottom, and wasn't it sad that he hadn't been able to do whatever it was.   
  
  
  
"Father was angry. He said that Uncle Severus had taken an enormous risk and nearly died, and it was shameful the way he'd been treated, as if he had accomplished nothing. Father thought that the unfairness of it had made it harder for Uncle Severus to get well, though Uncle would never admit it and refused to say a word about it."  
  
  
  
"You remember all this?" Harry asked.  
  
  
  
"Well, I missed Uncle Severus a lot," Ivy said. "He was the only one in the house who didn't treat me like a baby and a nuisance. Mother and Father were always busy, and they used to put me off when I asked questions by telling me I was too young to understand. Father started teaching me more things as I got older. But Pansy was always the worst. She could never let me forget that I was the youngest."  
  
  
  
"Ivy, do you know anything else, well, out of the ordinary, about your uncle?"  
  
  
  
Ivy's expression grew severe. "No," she said flatly, "but I think you do, Harry."  
  
  
  
Now it was Harry's turn to feel uneasy.   
  
  
  
"Well?" she prodded.  
  
  
  
"I'd better not say," he said simply.  
  
  
  
"You probably promised someone you wouldn't," she surmised accurately. "Well, I won't ask you to break any promises, but it's much better not to make them in the first place."  
  
  
  
"I'm sure you're right, but Ivy, there's something I have to tell Professor Snape, something that he really needs to know. Even more than I realized before I talked to you. I'll leave you out of it, though."  
  
  
  
"That's fine, but don't make any promises on my account. And please don't try to be a big, strong hero for the sake of protecting delicate little me. I find that kind of thing very tiresome. Gryffindors are always running around acting like they're about to save the world, and everybody else should just stand back and admire their lofty motives."  
  
  
  
"You're talking about me, aren't you?"  
  
  
  
"Well, you're one of the worst," she said judiciously, but she seemed not to hold it against him. "A few of them are even more insufferable. Like that Hermione Granger you hang around with. She's a real piece of work. From a Muggle family, isn't she?"  
  
  
  
"So was my mother," Harry reminded her. "I admit Hermione can rub people the wrong way, but she's nice when you get to know her," he defended his friend.  
  
  
  
"Nice to you, I sppose. I've been seeing Neville Longbottom with you a lot more than I used to. He may not amount to much, but at least he's not insufferable. You know something about the Longbottoms, don't you?"  
  
  
  
Harry nodded.   
  
  
  
"I hope it's good news," said Ivy.  
  
  
  
"I hope so too," agreed Harry. "Look, thanks for the information, Ivy. I owe you one."  
  
  
  
Ivy looked straight back at him with serious eyes. "Yes, Harry, I think you do."  
  
  
  
Harry opened the drapes a crack to reconnoiter. All he needed was for Draco Malfoy to come along and find the two of them deep in conversation. He thought about asking Ivy what exactly was going on between her and Malfoy, but decided that for the moment at least it was none of his business. He didn't want to antagonize Ivy, especially when she had been so forthcoming. And yet he was sure that Ivy had been furthering her own purposes by telling him what she had and then leaving him in her debt. It was a safe bet to appeal to the honour of a Gryffindor.   
  
  
  
Seeing no one, Harry stepped out from between the drapes.  
  
  
  
"I'll let you know how it goes," he said, turning back to Ivy.   
  
  
  
"I'm looking forward to it," she said with a one-sided smile.  
  
***************************  
  
AN: Pettigrew's role in this story came as something of a shock to me too. Actually I made the whole thing up as I went along. I know I'm on shaky ground when constructing a backstory for Professor Snape, but I hoped that Ivy, as her uncle's advocate and representative, would give me some insight into what it's like to be a Slytherin. Things with Snape really heat up in Chapter 5, "A First-Class Slytherin." 


	6. 5 A FirstClass Slytherin

AN: Harry's second visit to Frank Longbottom sets in motion a whole train of consequences, which this chapter only begins to examine.   
  
Chapter 5: A First-Class Slytherin  
  
Harry had decided not to try to talk to Professor Snape after Potions class. The subject was too touchy to tackle between class periods. Wednesday night was the time. When it came down to it, Harry felt more nervous about stirring up Snape's past than about whatever test of endurance the Potions Master might be planning; in fact, almost more nervous than he had before his latest trip to the hospital. At least Neville would be there. "Don't beat around the bush," Neville advised quietly, "just go straight to the point. I know, I should talk."   
  
"Thanks, Neville," said Harry tonelessly as they sat in the Gryffindor common room after Wednesday dinner, waiting until it was time for their tutorial. Ron, Hermione, and Neville were working on homework, but Harry was too distracted even to attempt his own assignments. He kept seeing Pettigrew turning into Wormtail in his mind's eye, being eaten by an owl or caught in a trap or crushed underfoot, over and over again. Harry fidgeted in his chair and cleaned his glasses for the fifteenth time.   
  
Hermione gave him a concerned look over a closely-written roll of parchment. "You know, Harry, I'm a little worried about you. You look peaky to me."  
  
"No, I'm fine," said Harry, trying to sound sincere.   
  
"You've been under a lot of stress," Hemione went on, "and your appetite's not what it should be. Neville told us that your visit last Sunday went really well."  
  
"It did," said Harry.   
  
"Terrific, actually," said Neville.   
  
"So I don't know why you're not happier about it."   
  
"I'll let myself be happier about it after tonight," Harry said. "I just don't know what's going to happen."   
  
"Pretend it's one of the tasks in the Triwizard Tournament," Ron suggested. "The one with the dragon. That was so awesome."  
  
"Professor Snape is a lot like a dragon," Neville added.  
  
"Maybe you should take your Firebolt with you," Ron said, only half joking.  
  
Ron and Hermione were doing their best to support Harry without being inquisitive, and he was grateful. It was good to remember how much easier it had been to encounter the dragon in the Triwizard Tournament than to go through the weeks of dread beforehand. But suddenly he just couldn't stand the waiting anymore. "Let's go, Neville," he said, standing up, "before I lose my mind completely."  
  
* * * * * * * *   
  
In a few minutes Harry and Neville were sitting at the table in Secret Room Number Eight, waiting for Professor Snape to come in. Harry tried to tell himself there was nothing to worry about. Snape would be happy to hear the news. But Harry's stomach was sending him a different message.   
  
When Professor Snape appeared he looked surprised to see them. "You're early, I see," he observed without approval. Harry was relieved that Snape had apparently brought no potions with him.   
  
"Professor Snape, there's something I need to tell you," Harry plunged in before he could lose his nerve.   
  
"Yes, Potter," Snape answered without looking at him, as he placed books and papers on the table.   
  
"Sir—you know that Sirius Black is innocent of my parents' murder," Harry went on.  
  
This time Snape did look at him, with puzzled irritation. "So I've been told. What of it, Potter?"   
  
"When I went to see Frank Longbottom last weekend, he told me who had tortured him and his wife. And he said that he had also told you, many years ago."   
  
Snape's face turned even sallower than usual and set like stone.  
  
"You had better get to the point, Potter," he growled.   
  
Harry gulped. "Yes, sir. Frank Longbottom said that it was Pettigrew who tortured them, but no one believed him because everyone knew Pettigrew had died a hero's death. But I told Frank that Pettigrew hadn't died a hero's death or any other kind, and that he was still alive."  
  
"You told him that to make him feel better, no doubt."  
  
"No, sir, it's true. Pettigrew is alive. I saw him first in the Shrieking Shack, and you were there too, but you were un-unconscious, sir," Harry continued, beginning to stutter.   
  
"I trust you remember /why/ I was unconscious, Potter." Snape's voice was dangerously soft. "I had been wantonly attacked by three half-crazed students—"  
  
  
  
"Yes, sir, I'm sorry, sir," said Harry, wondering why under the sun he had brought up an episode which surely rankled in Snape's soul for numerous reasons. "But he was the one who betrayed my parents to Vol—You-Know-Who. And I wanted you to know that Pettigrew was alive, too, because that means that you did find out the truth from Frank Longbottom, no matter who thinks that you didn't. You had a mission, and you carried it out. You didn't fail, sir. You succeeded."  
  
Snape's black eyes bored into Harry's. "And do you have proof of this, Potter?"  
  
"Well, not—not that Pettigrew tortured the Longbottoms. But I intend to get it, sir."  
  
"Without proof, you will get nowhere. And do you have /any idea/," Snape went on, gathering steam, "the slightest inkling, of the price I paid for that information, which was considered /completely worthless/?"  
  
"Yes, sir, I do," said Harry, "and I think it's …" He trailed off, realizing that he had already said too much.   
  
"You /do/?" Snape demanded. "You know? Let's hear it, then."  
  
"I … you ..." stammered Harry, completely at a loss.   
  
"And /who told you/?!"  
  
"I … I can't say, sir!"   
  
"I suppose you heard that I was at death's door," Snape said bitterly, "confined to my sickbed for months, weak and helpless, pitied and coddled, but not admired or respected, oh no. Poor old Severus tried, but didn't quite make the grade. Made a mess of things. Did more harm than good, but let's not be too hard on him, or he'll never get back on his feet. You heard about all that, didn't you? Don't try to deny it!"  
  
Harry didn't try.   
  
"But who told you, Potter? Who dared to make so free with my private affairs?"  
  
"I can't say, sir," said Harry again.   
  
"Can't say, is it, Potter?" shouted Snape, in a towering rage. "You /will/ answer me, you swaggering little pipsqueak, or you'll be very sorry, and I'll still get it out of you in the end!"  
  
Harry said nothing.   
  
"Who told you, Potter?" Snape's voice was quiet again, but it sent a shiver up Harry's spine. The professor had his wand out and seemed to be deciding what to do with it. "I could get a dose of Veritaserum, but perhaps the Tickling Charm would do the job just as well."  
  
"Not allowed, sir," said Neville.   
  
Snape turned slowly and fixed his gaze on Neville, as if he had forgotten that the other boy was there. "Not allowed, Longbottom? Even the Tickling Charm?"  
  
"Not—not for purposes of coercion, sir," Neville replied in a whisper.  
  
A thought struck Snape. "Did you find out about it and tell him, Longbottom?"  
  
"No, sir," Neville squeaked, thoroughly unnerved.   
  
"It had better not have been you," Snape said darkly. "Potter, who told you?"  
  
Harry said, "Sir, /you may think you can browbeat me into submission, And force me to realize your fondest ambition/," and all the rest of it, noticing all the while how appropriate the words were to his situation.   
  
"Very nicely spoken, Potter," simpered Snape, "but it won't do you any good. Who told you?"  
  
A muffled voice from the back of the room said, "I told him, Uncle." Neville and Harry turned and looked at the closet door Harry had noticed at their first session. They heard the latch rattling, an exclamation of annoyance, and the word "/Alohomora!/" The door popped open and Ivy Parkinson emerged.   
  
"Ivy!" blurted Snape in tones of shock. Harry had never heard him address a student by her first name before.   
  
"It's about time you showed up, Ivy," said Harry, feeling distinctly relieved.   
  
"You're wasted on Gryffindor House, Harry," said Ivy, brushing the dust off her robes and putting her wand away. "You'd have made a first-class Slytherin."   
  
"So I've been told," said Harry. "Listen, Ivy, I'm sorry about this. You know I didn't mean—"  
  
"I'm not blaming you, Harry," she returned, seating herself at the table as if she belonged there. "These things have a way of coming out when the time is right. You couldn't resist playing the hero, though, could you? Even after I told you not to."  
  
"Sorry, I don't know what came over me," said Harry. "I'll try to do better next time."  
  
"I had a feeling I might need to be here. It's a good thing I arrived when I did; you two were earlier than usual." Turning to Neville, she said, "I'm Ivy Parkinson from Slytherin, Neville."  
  
"Nice to meet you, Ivy," Neville said automatically, then whispered, "Harry, did you know she was here?"  
  
"No, but I should have. She gave me plenty of hints," Harry answered.  
  
Professor Snape was trying to gather his scattered wits and regain control of the situation. "Miss Parkinson, may I ask the meaning of this intrusion?" he demanded icily.   
  
Ivy looked back at him without fear. "It won't do you any good to 'Miss Parkinson' me, Uncle Severus. I'm here as your niece, not as your student, to say that I'm the one who told Harry Potter about why you were ill."  
  
"Octavius swore that he and Zinnia would never tell a soul," said Snape. "He should not have spoken of it even to you, Ivy."  
  
"He didn't, Uncle. I listened behind doors and remembered. I was only five, but I understood more than anyone guessed, except you."   
  
"I should have known you would make it your business to find out. But why, of all people, did you tell it to—to /Potter/?" The question was angry and incredulous.   
  
"He asked, Uncle. In all this time, he was the only one who asked. And he had a good reason for asking."   
  
She turned to Harry. "I think you'd better tell us a little about Pettigrew, how he betrayed your parents and made everyone believe he was dead."  
  
Harry explained what he had overheard at the Three Broomsticks in his third year and learned later from Sirius Black. His three listeners all had a right to know; they had all suffered at least indirectly from Pettigrew's cruelty. There was no need, however, to tell them about the last encounter with Wormtail. He ended, "So Pettigrew made it look as if Sirius Black had turned my parents over to Voldemort—"  
  
"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," corrected Neville.  
  
"—and killed all those Muggles. And for that he was given the Order of Merlin, First Class, after his supposed death."  
  
"Oh, he was, was he?" Now it was Ivy's turn to get angry. "It makes me sick to think that that bloody stinking piece of filth was decorated for valour! I can think of better ways to decorate vermin like that, with their own disgusting—" she broke off, fuming. Harry was a little taken aback to notice how closely her thoughts about Wormtail matched his own. Ivy took a breath and said passionately, "Uncle Severus, that medal should have been yours. Pettigrew might as well have stolen it from you. You deserve it. You suffered for it. You earned it. The hero's death could easily have been yours, Uncle, and then I never would have known you."   
  
At Ivy's words, Snape's face twisted. He abruptly turned his back on them all. Ivy choked on her tears.   
  
  
  
"My, aren't we emotional today," said a conversational voice behind them. Harry, Ivy, and Neville looked round. No, it wasn't the closet this time.   
  
"I'm very sorry to interrupt," the voice continued, sweetly and gently, "and I haven't said a word until now, have I?" The rocking chair in the painting behind them was no longer empty. A woman was seated in it, with the book on her bony knees and the spectacles perched on her nose. "I try to mind my own business, and keep something interesting to read with me," she explained, indicating her book, "but I'm supposed to keep an eye on what goes on here. Such goings-on I never saw," she added, shaking her head. "I was afraid I might get wet, being in the line of fire, as you might say.  
  
"But when I see anybody crying in this room, I just have to speak up. It's the rule. Child, are you all right?"   
  
  
  
Ivy realised, to her embarrassment, that the woman in the painting was speaking to her. She wiped her tears on the sleeve of her robe and said coolly, "I'll survive, I think."  
  
"I see that some of you are having a difficult time with your feelings," the woman said solicitously. "I think it would be an excellent idea for all of you to take turns sharing your feelings without being interrupted, and being heard respectfully by the group. Many people find it amazingly helpful." A lighted candle and a pile of handkerchieves appeared on the table. "Who would like to begin?"  
  
A stunned silence greeted her suggestion.   
  
"Sometimes it's hard to go first," the woman sympathized. "Perhaps I should choose somebody to start. Or would you like a silent meditation first?"   
  
Harry pulled himself together and said, "Ma'am, I think we've already shared enough, er, feelings for today. Thanks very much for the suggestion, though."  
  
  
  
She looked disappointed. "Does everybody agree with that?" Ivy and Neville nodded vigourously, and Professor Snape, turning back to face her, quelled her with a long look.  
  
"Well, if you're sure," she said dubiously. The candle and hankies vanished. "But I must say I really would like to see anger expressed more responsibly in this room. There's a difference between sharing anger and inflicting it on others, you know." With that parting shot she went back to her book.   
  
Another silence followed. Harry looked from Neville to Ivy, and suddenly all three of them starting giggling helplessly. Although Professor Snape did not join in the laughter, he did not try to stop it, either, but waited without comment, arms folded, until the mirth had run its course, which took a good five minutes. Then he informed them, with a significant look at Harry, "I believe we have covered enough for one session. You are all excused." The three students, or rather two students and one niece, got away without any homework assignments or injunctions to return the following week.   
  
Out in the corridor, Harry told the other two, "We'll all meet at Hagrid's tomorrow afternoon. You too, Ivy, if you can make it. Ron and Hermione have been waiting to hear what's been happening."  
  
"I'll come, but I'd like to know when those two are going to decide whether they like each other or not," Ivy said.  
  
  
  
"So would I," Harry admitted.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
When he came to breakfast the next morning, Harry was no longer mentally holding his breath. The storm had broken and blown over, clearing the air. His stomach told him that he could really relax, at least for the time being. He found that he didn't resent Professor Snape for his loss of temper, insults and dire threats. Well, not much, anyway. At least the professor hadn't taken any points from Gryffindor, and it was amazing how much difference that made. Gory fantasies about Wormtail no longer obsessed Harry's thoughts, either. He could leave those to Ivy. He tucked into his kippers and bacon with a good appetite and a mind at ease, and noticed Hermione looking with approval at his loaded plate.   
  
Neville had told Harry that Professor Dumbledore wanted to see him before his first class of the day. So Harry mounted the moving steps to the Headmaster's office and used the griffin-headed knocker. "Come in, Harry," said the familiar voice. Harry entered and took a seat opposite his grey-bearded host.   
  
Dumbledore was smiling at him. "Neville brought me up to date last night," he said after their exchange of greetings, "and I'm extremely pleased. I must congratulate you on what you've already accomplished. Even if you achieve nothing else, you will have done a great deal both for Frank Longbottom and Professor Snape."  
  
"Thank you, sir. But I plan to stick with it."  
  
"I know you do, Harry, but I want you to stop worrying about failing. If this were a course at Hogwarts, you would already have earned a passing grade. Anything else you do is just so much extra. And by the way, Harry, I believe I'll be able to arrange advanced standing for you and Neville in Defense Against the Dark Arts for this in the future. I plan to speak to Professor Moody, but for now it's strictly extra-curricular."  
  
"I quite understand," Harry agreed.  
  
"I think you and everyone involved in this project should take a week off to rest and recover, Harry," Dumbledore counseled. "I'll speak to Professor Snape about postponing your next tutoring session until the following week. In the meantime, relax with your friends and celebrate a little." Fawkes the phoenix seemed to agree; sitting on Dumbledore's desk, he bobbed his head on its long scarlet neck.  
  
"We're getting together at Hagrid's this afternoon. I almost wondered if I should ask Professor Snape to join us," said Harry, although he would have been appalled if Snape had actually accepted.   
  
  
  
"It's a nice thought, Harry, but I'm sure you realise that Professor Snape is not yet ready to celebrate. His sense of the personal wrongs done to him runs too deep."  
  
"Professor, is it possible that Professor Snape will ever get the credit he deserves? He might be a lot easier to live with if he did."   
  
"I've held out that hope for many years, Harry," Dumbledore replied. "You knew, sir?"  
  
"I had no proof, only suspicions. Not enough to take a stand against the accepted version of events. I have watched and waited for the evidence to accumulate in its own time."  
  
"Why do I get the feeling that this all hangs on what I find out?" Harry objected.  
  
"More things than you can imagine will be affected if the Longbottoms recover their sanity, Harry. Nothing will be the same. But there—I'm trying to lighten your burden, not make it weigh more heavily. Just do what you can and stop worrying about the outcome."  
  
"Sir, I'd be happy to take a week off—but Frank Longbottom can't take a week off from the Curser. I can't just forget about him."  
  
Dumbledore said, "Harry, I don't think you realize how much you helped him just by believing what he told you. Being disbelieved was probably nearly as hard for him as the original injury to his mind. The one thing he was sure of was called into question. Now he needs time to get used to the new state of affairs. There's nothing to be gained by rushing things. The same is true of Professor Snape. I'd like to give him some time."  
  
"Fine by me. But—what about Neville's Mum? I have no idea what to do for her."  
  
Dumbledore was silent for a moment. "I think, Harry," he said finally, "that what you've done may have already helped her too. And it might be someone else, after all, who finally gets through to her. Don't concern yourself too much about Aurelle Longbottom for the time being. Now you'd better get to class. Just be a student for a while."  
  
********************  
  
AN: People have asked if the lady in the painting is supposed to be "me" (I'm something of a sharing-group junkie), but she's not. I was skating on thin ice and needed a way to shift levels and poke fun at the emotional content of the scene. In that respect I feel I'm being true to the spirit of Rowling's work, although she would probably never introduce a character like that. At some point I realized, heck, I have to write this as me and stop pretending to be her. In chapter 6, "Across the Channel," you will find out why Hagrid adds marshmallows to the Jell-O for Care of Magical Creatures. 


	7. 6 Across the Channel

AN: I figure if Hagrid can't spell "Voldemort" he can't spell "marshmallow" either. And I don't know if coconut Jell-O even exists.   
  
Chapter 6: Across the Channel  
  
"Professor Dumbledore says we're supposed to celebrate today," Harry told Ron, Hermione, and Neville as they were assembling for Care of Magical Creatures class.   
  
  
  
"Cool!" exclaimed Ron. "I'll get some refreshments from the kitchen. It'll be the best!"  
  
  
  
"Well, don't go overboard," Hermione warned him. She knew the house-elves would send Ron away with half the eatables in the kitchen if he gave them any encouragement.   
  
  
  
"I invited Ivy to join us," Harry added quietly.   
  
  
  
"Are you sure that's wise, Harry?" Ron asked. "Remembering certain people she associates with?"  
  
  
  
"Wise or not, she needs to be there," said Harry. Neville nodded.  
  
The Slytherin contingent was arriving in a tight little group. Draco Malfoy sauntered over to face Harry. "I've something to say to you, Potter," he snapped. "Crabbe tells me he saw you and Ivy Parkinson talking together on the stairs last night. You stay away from her, you hear me? Ivy is off-limits to you."  
  
"She's not your property, Malfoy," Harry said evenly. "You must not feel very sure of her, if you think I'm a threat."  
  
"You, a threat, Potter? Don't make me laugh."  
  
That was an idea. Harry would have been tempted to try the Multiple Tickling Charm on Malfoy, if he hadn't been so abysmal at it. But an ordinary dueling charm would work nearly as well … Pansy Parkinson muttered, "You steer clear of my sister, if you know what's good for you, Potter," and Harry almost retorted, "Why, what's wrong with her?" but Hagrid was calling the class to attention.   
  
This week they were studying fire crabs. As noted in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, these animals resembled large tortoises with heavily jewelled shells. They were sought after as pets, but required a license. Knowing Hagrid, Harry suspected that their presence at Hogwarts might not be strictly legal. But they were pretty to look at, and the students were performing an interesting experiment. Fire crabs loved sweets, and Hagrid had come up with a plan to feed them Jell-O and see what effect it had on the composition of their shells. Next to a pile of dishes and spoons, a row of crockery bowls containing Jell-O in all colors of the rainbow, a couple of them with marshmallows, sat on a large table. One bowl appeared empty, but on closer inspection it turned out to hold colorless, completely transparent Jell-O. "Wonder what flavour this is," said Seamus Finnegan, peering into the bowl and sniffing at it.   
  
"Tha's cocoanut," Hagrid told him. "Thought it migh' make 'em grow di'monds on their shells. Worth a try. Now yeh  
  
see, class, first each of yeh tie a label onto the crab o' yer choice." He indicated a pile of parchment tags with strings attached, with "razzberry," "orange with marshmellers," "lemin," "lime with marshmellers," "bleuberry," "grape," "coaconut," and "tooti frooti with marshmellers" lettered on them. "Then yeh make sure they eat only wha' the label says, and see if they get matchin' coloured jewels on their shells."  
  
"What about the, er, marshmallows?" Hermione wanted to know.   
  
"Pearls," Hagrid replied.   
  
"Makes perfect sense," said Ron. He selected an "orange with marshmellers" label (orange was the colour of his favourite Quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons) and started tying it around a fire crab's neck. The animal didn't object. Although fire crabs were related to Blast-Ended Skrewts, the creatures which had filled last year's classes with so much danger and excitement, and shared with them the ability to shoot flames from their back ends, the fire crabs were far slower and more peaceable, defending themselves only when provoked.   
  
The students spent a diverting hour labeling their crabs and feeding them dishes of gelatin, which the creatures ate with great relish. In fact the main problem was to keep them supplied with their own proper flavours so that they wouldn't wander off and sample the wrong kinds. Seamus chose lime with marshmallows, Hermione the almost invisible coconut, and Neville the blueberry flavour. Lavender and Parvati picked the grape. Harry and Dean shared the bowl of raspberry Jello between their two crabs. Harry noted that Crabbe and Goyle, serving the tutti frutti with marshmallows to the crabs assigned to them, were spooning a great deal of it into their own mouths as well. Ron caught them at it too. "Well, at least one of them's a Crabbe," he murmured to Harry, "so I guess he's entitled."   
  
When class was over the students helped Hagrid to herd the fire crabs back to their enclosure (Hagrid had rigged a pen for them in his back yard). "It'll probably take at least a few hours for the diet to take effect," Hagrid told them, "so remember what yer crab looks like terday. Take a good look at it before yeh go."   
  
  
  
But apparently one of the students had a different idea. Goyle had picked up his fire crab and was walking away with it. The crab did not take kindly to this, and lived up to its name by sending out a blast of fire. Malfoy was following closely behind Goyle—screening him, perhaps? —and the flames caught him squarely on the front of his robes. Malfoy stopped dead and yelled something unprintable.   
  
Harry acted without hesitation. He yanked out his wand, pointed it at Malfoy, whose robes were on fire, and shouted, "/Aquafrigida!/" The jet of water doused the flames immediately, but just to be sure, Harry continued to play the water over his nemesis, who went on cursing as the chilly water soaked him from head to foot. Malfoy used his hands to shield himself and tried to step away from the line of fire, but Harry adjusted his aim to compensate, catching a couple of other Slytherins in the process. Pansy squealed with the shock of the cold water as it went by.  
  
"You can stop now, Harry," Neville prompted him nervously.   
  
"Oh, right," said Harry, and did.   
  
Ron was doubled over with laughter, and Dean and Seamus were impressed. "Awesome, Harry." "Where'd you learn that?"   
  
Before Harry could answer, Hermione broke in. "I taught it to him. I found it while I was doing some research for Defense Against the Dark Arts class."   
  
While Hagrid was letting Goyle have it for trying to take the fire crab without permission, Malfoy came over and confronted Harry for the second time that day. He was still dripping, and Hermione dried him off as unobtrusively as possible. He looked at Harry with loathing, but since Hagrid had one eye on him, he merely said with deadly quiet, "I owe you a favour, Potter. I'll be sure to return it."   
  
"Not at all," said Harry. "Happy to help. Wanted to make sure you didn't get a nasty burn there. Lots of cold water's the best for that, you know."  
  
"Better take care not to get any, er, nasty burns yourself, Potter," Malfoy shot back.  
  
When the fire crab had been replaced with its fellows and most of the class had left, Hermione looked at him with wide eyes. "You shouldn't have done that, Harry!" she worried.   
  
Ron was still chuckling. "Why not? It was perfect!"   
  
"For one thing, people aren't supposed to know that Harry's learning spells like that! And besides, you don't need something that powerful to put out such a little fire. It's like … well, like …"   
  
"Like putting out a candle with a bucket of water," Ron obliged, grinning widely.  
  
"Oh, brilliant comparison," Hermione snapped.   
  
Neville added, "Maybe Hermione means that that kind of spell shouldn't be wasted on … on …"   
  
"… On petty personal revenge," Hermione finished for him. "You're right, Neville, that's just what I wanted to say."   
  
"I reckon I got a little carried away. Once I got started it was hard to stop …" Harry paused, remembering. "Thanks for covering for me, Hermione."   
  
"You did the right thing, Harry, no matter what anyone says," Ron told him. "After all he was on fire and you did put it out. What more could anyone ask for?" The whole incident seemed to have put Ron in an excellent humour. Harry had found it rather satisfying too, but he felt a small qualm when he thought about what Draco Malfoy might do to get even, and he wondered if he had needlessly complicated the situation with Ivy. What if she couldn't get away at all that afternoon?  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
But he needn't have worried. When he and Ron arrived on Hagrid's doorstep at teatime, Ivy had already made herself at home and was brewing a pot of ginger tea. Ron was loaded down with a wicker hamper stuffed with puds and things from the kitchen, and he had given Harry numerous bottles of butterbeer to carry. Hagrid rescued three of them from falling when Harry stepped into the cottage and tried to put all of them down on the table at once. The two of them lined up the bottles as Ron set out the feast, and soon Hermione and Neville arrived, shaking the rain off their cloaks, for it had started to drizzle. Six people in Hagrid's little hut (plus Fang the boarhound) turned out to be a tight fit. They were short a chair or two, but Hagrid had provided some cushions on the floor to make up the difference.  
  
Harry made introductions. "Ron, Hermione, this is Ivy Parkinson from Slytherin. She has information we need."  
  
"Hagrid and I have already met," said Ivy with one of her odd little smiles. Of course she had studied Care of Magical Creatures with him, but she appeared to mean more than that. And they seemed to have taken to each other too, Harry noticed somewhat to his surprise. All the Slytherins of his year agreed that Hagrid was nothing but a bumbling idiot.   
  
"So, Ivy, you didn't have any trouble, er, getting away this afternoon?" Neville wanted to know.   
  
"Not at all. For one thing, Draco's having Quidditch practice this afternoon."  
  
"And he doesn't expect you to sit in the rain and watch him?" Ron wondered with a touch of sarcasm.   
  
"Oh, he'd like me to," Ivy replied, refusing to be ruffled, "but it's not my idea of fun. I'm not all that interested in Quidditch anyway."  
  
"Not … interested …?" Ron was silenced. He looked at her with even more suspicion than before.   
  
"I suppose you heard that Draco told Harry never to speak to you again," Hermione remarked.  
  
"More than that. I also heard Draco tell me never to speak to Harry again," Ivy retorted, "but I told him that it was a shame to waste such a perfect opportunity to collect information about what the Gryffindors might be up to, and he changed his mind."  
  
"But you weren't supposed to tell us that!" Neville exclaimed.  
  
"Are you here to spy on us, Ivy?" Harry asked.  
  
"I haven't decided yet," Ivy conceded. "I'm leaving the possibility open."  
  
"And meanwhile you're disarming us with your honesty," Ron parried.   
  
Ivy shrugged. "It's better than pretending that butter wouldn't melt in my mouth. You wouldn't believe that of a Slytherin, would you? Look, I'm not here to help Harry or any of the rest of you, or Frank Longbottom, or Draco Malfoy either, except for Uncle Severus' sake. I'll do whatever it takes to save Uncle's honour and promote his interests."  
  
"Snape? Why are you so dotty about him?" Ron asked bluntly. He seemed determined to get under Ivy's skin, and this time he succeeded. Her face hardened, reminding Harry unpleasantly of her sister Pansy, and she glared at Ron without a word.   
  
"Ron, wait until Neville and I explain what's happened since last week," said Harry. "I reckon you'll see things a bit differently."  
  
"Tha's wha' yer all here for, isn' that right?" Hagrid reminded them. "We all want ter hear wha's been goin' on. I know I do. Now everyone help yerselves—there's plenty of everythin'—an' settle down, an' we'll get on with it."  
  
Hermione touched each bottle of butterbeer with her wand, so that they would stay cool to the touch while dispensing steaming hot drinks. Everyone did what Hagrid suggested, avoiding the gamekeeper's rock cakes from hard experience. Ivy took a cup of tea and seated herself on a cushion near the fire. The rain had grown heavier, and they could hear it thudding on the roof. Neville said, "I'll start," rightly guessing that Harry preferred not to tell the story of his most recent visit to Frank Longbottom. When Neville got to the point in the story where his father had implicated Peter Pettigrew, Ivy clenched her fists, and Ron choked on a cream cake.   
  
"Pettigrew? Wormtail? SCABBERS!" he sputtered, and hurled the rest of his cream cake into the fire, where it blazed up in a spectacle of shooting multicoloured flames. Ron looked ready to go up in flames himself. "Wormtail AGAIN? I'll never hear the end of him, will I? Every year I live, I'll be treated to some revolting new tidbit about that little beast's depraved past! He betrayed Harry's parents, he brought back You-Know-Who, and now you're telling me that he tortured your Dad?" he demanded of Neville.   
  
"My Mum, too."  
  
"Your Mum, too," Ron echoed. "That's just fine. That's about as low as you can get. A life of crime that would turn your stomach, with a stint as a pet rat just for a change of pace. I could puke when I think how he used to—oh, forget it. Just forget it." He reached for another cream cake, but Harry stayed his hand.   
  
"Wait. You'd better hear the rest before you take that."  
  
"You mean there's more?"  
  
"There's more, all right," said Harry. After Neville had finished describing the trip to the hospital, ending with the visit to his mother, Harry recounted his conversation with Ivy in the library, with her permission, and Neville took up the tale again with last night's bizarre session in the Hidden Hall. Harry or Ivy occasionally added something, but Neville showed a surprising knack for repeating dialogue word for word, considering how much trouble he had remembering his lessons and belongings.  
  
"No wonder you were scared, Harry," Hermione commented after hearing about the hair-raising exchange between Harry and Snape, ending in Ivy's surprise appearance.   
  
"Spitless," Harry admitted, and took a long pull at his mug of butterbeer.  
  
The part about the lady in the painting who wanted them to share their feelings caught Ron with a mouthful of butterbeer, and he ended up spraying his robes thoroughly.   
  
"We haven't seen the last of her, that's for sure," said Ivy when Ron's laughter had subsided. "Professor Dumbledore must have had her in there on purpose to make sure all of you behaved."  
  
"Well, you were the one who started her off," Ron pointed out. "If you hadn't—"  
  
"If I hadn't been there, something else would have happened to get her going," Ivy countered. "In fact it was just about to, if you ask me."  
  
"Okay, Ivy, you win," said Ron. "I'm with you. Any enemy of Wormtail's is a friend of mine. Even if it's Professor Snape. I'll help you get him covered with medals if you want, and he might even deserve them." He took another cream cake (Harry didn't object this time) and asked, "How did you get into the room? I thought there was a secret password or something."  
  
  
  
Ivy sighed impatiently. "I made it my job to hear what it was. It's a matter of being in the right place at the right time, without anybody noticing."  
  
"You're good at that, aren't you," said Hermione, and she wasn't sneering. She sounded admiring and just a little envious.   
  
"It's not as hard as you might think, even without an Invisibility Cloak," said Ivy with a meaningful glance at Harry. "Most of the time people aren't paying attention. They're wrapped up in their own affairs. Right now, someone could be standing outside that door and listening to everything we say."  
  
"In all this rain?" asked Ron skeptically. Actually the rain was giving way to sleet. But Ivy went to the door anyway, opened it, and peered out. Nobody was there.  
  
"Well, there could have been somebody," she said.   
  
Ron took the hint. "Do you mean to say that if you weren't in here, you'd be out there?"   
  
"Something like that." Ivy returned to her seat, after helping herself to more tea.   
  
"So then this morning, Professor Dumbledore gave Neville and me a week off and told us to celebrate," Harry concluded, "and here we are." He took a treacle tart and bit into it.   
  
"Well, Harry, I'm proud of yeh," Hagrid told him, beaming. "I knew yeh could do it. It's not over yet but yeh've made a good start. And Neville, yeh've come through with flying colours too. Keep it up."  
  
"Something else happened this morning that we might want to discuss," said Hermione in a voice that warned Harry what she had in mind.   
  
"Yeah, Harry, there's something you ought to know," said Ron. He grinned in Ivy's direction and said, "You're wasted as a wizard. You'd make … a first-class sprinkling can!"   
  
"Ron, you're acting like a first-class nut case," Hermione informed him. "I just thought we ought to consider the consequences of Harry using the Drenching Spell on Draco Malfoy."  
  
"What's done is done," said Hagrid. "No use cryin' over spilt milk. Or water, as the case might be. But Harry, yeh'd best try not ter do it again."  
  
"Don't worry," said Harry. "Next time someone catches on fire, I'll just sit on my hands."  
  
There was a pause while several of them went back for more refreshments, and Hagrid put another log on the fire. Neville said to Ivy, "You said that you don't like Quidditch much. What games do you like?"  
  
"My father taught me chess when I was quite young," Ivy answered, "and I've always enjoyed it. But I haven't found a decent chess partner at Hogwarts since last year's class graduated."  
  
"You're looking for someone to play chess?" Ron asked eagerly.   
  
"Ron's your man," said Harry. "He can whip me every time. Not that I'm anything to brag about as a player."  
  
"Hagrid, do you have a chess set?" Ron asked the gamekeeper.   
  
"I think I do have one, Ron. Got it fer a present once an' never used it." Hermione got up and started clearing the table to make room. "Should be here somewhere …" Hagrid heaved open the lid of a battered old trunk at the foot of his bed and starting rummaging in it. He removed a moth-eaten old cape, some singed leather gloves, a dog-eared (literally, that is, with twitching, furry ears on the corners) photograph album with pictures of pets past and present, a box containing fragments of the shell of a dragon's egg and a few large feathers, and finally came up with a wooden box that opened flat into a chessboard, disclosing a smaller box which held the chess pieces. Even before Hagrid opened this they could all hear the muffled sounds of the pieces clamoring to escape. When he lifted the lid they jumped out and surged over the board, chattering with excitement as they took their places.   
  
While Ron and Ivy played and the rest watched, Hagrid and Ivy heard about the Itching Potion, the Sickening Potion, and the Panic Potion, and Ivy learned the Opposition Verse and the alternate version from the Marauder's Map. Hagrid boiled water and started stirring up the Jell-O for the next day's Magical Creatures lesson, and Hermione and Neville helped him measure hot and cold water into the bowls. Ron wanted to add the marshmallows, but it wasn't time yet.  
  
Thanks to Ron's instruction, Harry knew enough chess to follow the gist of the action. Ivy played a game of misdirection, leading her opponent to one conclusion about her purposes and all the while planning something different. After Ivy won the first game, Ron started to get the hang of her strategy and won the second.   
  
"You're good," they said to each other. "Best of three?" proposed Ivy.  
  
"You bet," said Ron. The third game was long and hard-fought, but Ivy took the honours. Ron was clearly disappointed when his king was gorily decapitated, but they agreed to meet soon for a rematch.   
  
As the five students left Hagrid's and crossed the grounds in the sleety dusk, Harry walked next to Ivy and said in a low voice, "You and Hagrid seem rather chummy." The two had said little to each other, but at the end of their visit Hagrid had taken her hand and given her a warm farewell.  
  
"It's only people who aren't observant who think Hagrid is negligible, Harry," said Ivy. "He's a friend of yours and Professor Dumbledore's, and he knows things. Important things that most people don't know." Secret knowledge earned Ivy's respect.   
  
* * * * * * * *   
  
At dinner that evening, it was Ron, for a change, whose appetite had deserted him. He frowned at his plate of spaghetti as if he had forgotten what he was supposed do with it.   
  
"Too many cream cakes," Hermione diagnosed.   
  
"Too much butterbeer," Neville opined.  
  
"Too many feelings," Harry sympathized.   
  
"Or could it be too much chess?" Ron inquired of his plate. "I haven't lost a chess match in years—not to someone younger than me, anyway. I'm not used to it."  
  
But it wasn't the chess that was really bothering him, Harry was sure. When dinner was over, Ron moped around the Gryffindor common room and couldn't concentrate on his homework. After they had gone to bed, Harry could hear Ron moving restlessly. He listened to his friend sigh and mutter and flop over and punch his pillow for a while. Finally Harry put on his glasses, got out of bed and whispered, "Ron?" He shivered in the night chill and pulled on a dressing gown over his pajamas.  
  
"Harry? You still awake?" Ron poked his head out from between his curtains. "C'mon in here."   
  
Harry settled himself at the foot of Ron's bed and asked, "What's up?"  
  
Ron pulled his blankets up around his shoulders and lit his wand just enough so they could see each other. They talked in whispers. "I can't stop thinking about Wormtail," Ron confessed. "I just keep seeing him in my mind, and I can almost feel him crawling around on me, the way he used to." Ron shuddered. "I want to strangle him, or maybe give him to Crookshanks to play with. For a good long time." Harry could just make out Ron's satisfied smile as he thought of how Hermione's pet cat would deal with Wormtail. "When I remember what he did to Neville's parents—and yours—I want him to suffer and die horribly. I get furious when I think what he did to Professor Snape—and I don't even like Professor Snape. But I can't get Wormtail out of my mind. It's like I'm possessed or something."  
  
"I know what you mean," said Harry. "After Frank Longbottom told me about Wormtail, the same kind of thing happened to me. I imagined torturing him, over and over. After what he did, nothing seemed too horrible. But it didn't make me feel any better and I couldn't stop."  
  
"But you came out of it, didn't you?"  
  
"Yes, but it didn't really get better until I heard Ivy saying the same things I'd been thinking. She just lost it, and I felt better straight away. It's like anger at Wormtail is a hot potato that we're passing around. First me. Then Snape."  
  
"And of course Snape took it out on you, in that charming way he has."  
  
"Then Ivy, and then you," Harry went on. "And maybe it's worse for you because you kept him as a pet for so long."  
  
"I don't want to think about it," said Ron stonily. "If I had known, I would have thrown him across the Channel when Percy gave him to me."  
  
"Does Percy know anything …?" Harry ventured.  
  
"No. And I'm not going to tell him. Anyway, Percy didn't have him very long and kept him in a cage."  
  
Harry decided not to ask how Percy had come to own Scabbers, alias Wormtail. He leaned back against the footboard of Ron's bed.  
  
"So who's left?" Ron asked rhetorically, studying the faint glow at the tip of his wand. "Hagrid, Hermione, and Neville. Neville's the obvious choice, but I wouldn't wish this on anyone. Why hasn't Neville taken a turn with the hot potato? Maybe he's just too nice." Ron rubbed one hand over his face. "I'm really tired."  
  
"Buck up. Sometimes it helps to think about something else," said Harry. "Imagine how you're going to beat Ivy the next time you play chess."  
  
"I tried that," said Ron. "All the chess pieces kept turning into Wormtail. Can't you just see it? Rat kings, and rat queens, and rat knights, all with whiskers and twitching little noses." Ron made a sound of disgust.   
  
Harry hesitated, then said, "I still have some of the hellebore Hermione gave me. Keep it by your bed, but don't use it unless you have to. And you could try the Opposition Verse."  
  
* * * * * * * *   
  
The next morning Ron came down late, with circles under his eyes, just as the Gryffindor common room was emptying out for breakfast. Harry, Hermione, and Neville were waiting for him. "You look terrible, Ron," Hermione exclaimed. "Harry told us about—you know. How did you get through the night?"  
  
"Well, I didn't take the hellebore," said Ron. "I tried the Opposition Verse, like you said, Harry, but it didn't work very well. In fact, it didn't work at all. What works is the other verse, the Sprinkling Can version. As soon as I hit on that I could send dear little Wormtail away. But by then it was pretty late."   
  
"Good show, Ron," Harry approved. "That's the stuff. That could be a really good thing to know."  
  
"Maybe you should come with Harry and me the next time we meet with Professor Snape," said Neville. "If you want to," he added.  
  
"I'll have to think about that," said Ron, rubbing his eyes and yawning.  
  
Hermione looked at Ron as a thought occurred to her. "That verse came from the Marauder's Map," she said, "and the Marauder's Map has part of Wormtail in it."  
  
"I have a plan about that," said Harry. "Ron, stick around after Quidditch practice this afternoon."   
  
They were only a few minutes late to breakfast, and Ron snoozed through his classes while the others covered for him. After a few whispered words of explanation to Hagrid, Neville even fed orange Jell-O with marshmallows to Ron's fire crab while Ron stretched out on Hagrid's bed. The jewels on the crabs were showing signs of mutating to match the colours of their meals. Hermione took detailed notes on the changes in hers.   
  
"What are you going to do with all that?" Harry asked, peeking at her parchment.   
  
"Make a graph," answered Hermione, scribbling busily. If Ron had been there he probably would have scoffed, but Harry found himself rather intrigued. He looked at his own fire crab, feasting on more raspberry Jell-O, with new interest. "If you want to give me information about yours, I can make a graph for it too," she offered.   
  
"Sure, why not?" said Harry. "Thanks, Hermione." He fished in his bag for a quill and started taking some notes of his own. He and Draco Malfoy, serving lemon Jell-O to his fire crab, avoided each other pointedly.   
  
AN: When I put Hagrid and Ivy in the same room, the affinity between them took me totally by surprise. I couldn't explain it. You'll find out more of what's behind it in Chapter 7, "Salazara." And when Ivy and Hermione actually meet, they get along fairly well; they have a lot in common. Most of the tension manifests itself between Ivy and Ron. 


	8. 7 Salazara

AN: I was doing research in /Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them/ so I could write about Care of Magical Creatures class, and I came upon a creature that I had to use in the story.   
  
Chapter 7: Salazara  
  
Harry and the Weasley twins were the only remaining members of the team that had captured the Quidditch cup two years ago, but this year they had quickly fielded a strong new team. Ron and Seamus had joined as Chasers, and hoped to replace Ron's brothers and become Beaters the following year. Ron had hit on the idea of using Omnioculars as a training device, and they had adopted it with outstanding success. Because of the instant-replay feature, players could perform a flying exercise with someone else watching through the Omnioculars, and then watch themselves while getting coaching on the finer points of technique.   
  
Fred and George had acted a bit coolly toward Harry since they had both been passed over in his favor when the new Gryffindor Quidditch captain had been voted in. Harry loved being Quidditch captain, but he had to admit that Fred and George had a better grasp of strategy than he did. His strength was flying, not tactics. So Harry drilled his team in flying maneuvers and techniques (he had mastered the Wronski Feint well enough to give a convincing demonstration) and relied on the Weasleys to come up with formation diagrams, explain them, and direct their execution on the field.  
  
Today Fred and George had put up what Harry recognized as someone's old Divination homework. George put on a pair of rhinestone-studded spectacles, studied the sheet for a moment and spoke in the misty voice of Professor Trelawney, their Divination teacher. "According to this chart, my dears, the two Beaters are at opposite ends of the field, one in the house of Saturn and the other in the house of Mars. This is a very serious matter, for it presages great danger for the opposing team. The Keeper has their fate in her hands, as soon as the moon reaches the full."  
  
Fred covered his head with a gauzy silk scarf and murmured, "As you see, the Seeker gains power from the influence of Jupiter, while the Chasers progress from Venus to Mercury with the Quaffle, which will not only score a goal, but also cause all the opposing Chasers to fall off their brooms. My friends, the end is near."  
  
Harry noticed the other team members snorting with amusement, and decided (not for the first time) that the Weasley teaching method was an improvement over putting the team to sleep. Even Ron was still conscious.  
  
When they had finished the day's field drill, Harry asked Fred and George to meet with him in the locker room after the rest of the team had left. Ron, looking much restored after his relaxing morning and an hour of vigorous flying practice, stayed too. "We're at your service, Harry," Fred declared. "That's right, we would never stab you in the back, no matter what our personal feelings are," George assured him. "That's good," said Harry, "because I'm going to step down as Quidditch captain for the time being, and promote the two of you to Acting Co-Captains."  
  
  
  
Fred and George looked at each other, stunned. "You're having us on," said George suspiciously.   
  
"No, really," Harry insisted, grinning in spite of himself.   
  
"But why?" Fred demanded. "Ron, is this man serious?"  
  
"Far as I know," shrugged Ron.   
  
  
  
"You didn't slip something in his pumpkin juice, did you?" asked Fred of George. George shook his head.   
  
  
  
"I have some, er, personal obligations at the moment that are rather pressing," explained Harry, trying not to give away more than he had to.   
  
  
  
"Girlfriend trouble?" asked George with concern.   
  
"Not exactly," said Harry. "It's sort of—"  
  
"Trouble with someone else's girlfriend, then," Fred amended. "Didn't I hear something about Ivy Parkinson yesterday? And Draco Malfoy?"  
  
"I wouldn't be a bit surprised," Harry sighed.   
  
"It could end up being serious," Ron put in.  
  
"Say no more," said George grandly. "We'll hold down the fort until things blow over."  
  
"And Harry, all fooling aside, you can trust us to do right by the team," Fred promised.  
  
"I know. At least you take your Quidditch seriously. Though I must say you hide it well," said Harry.  
  
"Well, we have a reputation to uphold," said Fred. "And listen, if you need advice about anything—"  
  
"Girls—"   
  
"Slytherins—"  
  
"Slytherin girls—"  
  
"Or anything else—"  
  
"You can always come to us."  
  
"Yeah, if you want to get into even more trouble," heckled Ron.  
  
"Since you mention it, there is something else I'd like to ask you about," Harry said as casually as he could manage.   
  
"Name it," said George.  
  
"The Marauder's Map," said Harry.  
  
"Ah, the Marauder's Map," said Fred. "You've been taking good care of it, I hope?"  
  
"Not really," Harry admitted. "It's been confiscated twice and I've got it back twice."  
  
George put the rhinestone glasses back on. "Clearly, Harry, the Marauder's Map is your appointed destiny," he trilled in his Trelawney voice. "I've been experimenting with it," said Harry, "and it works fine when I say exactly what you told me. 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.' But if I promise I'm up to no good, or vow that I'm planning mischief, or anything else, nothing happens Or at least the map doesn't appear. So how did you figure out exactly the right words to say?"  
  
"Well, Harry, we never told you this, but we had a little help," George confessed in his normal voice, but still peering at him through those silly glasses. "When we saw it in Filch's drawer we knew it was a find, but for quite a while it stayed blank no matter what we tried. Naturally we couldn't go to a teacher for advice."  
  
"Or a student," added Fred.   
  
"Or a family member."   
  
"Who does that leave?" asked Harry.  
  
"Exactly," George agreed. "Who indeed?"  
  
"Or perhaps we should say not who, but what?"  
  
Harry had no idea what they were on about.  
  
"Well, one day," said Fred, "we had a bit of luck."  
  
"To make a short story shorter, somebody in one of the Hogwarts paintings told us what to do," said George.   
  
"But he wouldn't tell us how he knew," added Fred.   
  
"Which painting?" Harry asked.   
  
Fred and George looked at each other. "Can't tell you," George answered regretfully.   
  
"Why not?" asked Ron.  
  
"Because of the rule," said Fred.  
  
Harry and Ron didn't bother asking what rule.   
  
"What rule, you ask," George supplied for them.  
  
"The unwritten rule of passing on magical secrets."  
  
"Which is, don't tell your successor every little thing. Let him figure out some of it for himself."   
  
  
  
"Make him work for it a little. Don't make it too easy. He should feel like a part of the process."  
  
"That way sensitive information is less likely to fall into the wrong hands."  
  
"Like Filch's, for example. The Marauder's Map didn't give anything away to him."  
  
"I see your point," said Harry. "And I suppose unwritten rules are the only kind you're interested in following."  
  
"Quite," said Fred. "Written rules are for people with literal minds, who see only the obvious."  
  
"Unwritten rules are for those who look deeper for the meaning of life," put in George, beginning to sound like Professor Trelawney again.   
  
"Well, thanks, Fred and George," said Harry. "You've been almost helpful."  
  
"Any time," said George.  
  
  
  
"That's what we're here for," said Fred.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
The next morning Harry wrote a letter to Sirius Black, also known as Padfoot and Snuffles, using initials to refer to himself, the Marauder's Map and its makers in case of interception. He deliberately made the letter sound casual and a bit thickheaded.   
  
/Dear S,   
  
I have a question about the MM. I got it back quite recently and I want to know if it is anything besides a M. Hermione wrote a verse on it, not knowing what it was, and then it got wet, and M, W, Pf, and P changed the verse to something nearly the same but quite different. Then they all made remarks about the verse. Can you tell when Pf says things on the MM?  
  
The chaps who gave me the MM said that a painting helped them learn how to use it. Do you know which painting?  
  
I need to know more about W and I thought that the MM might help. Please advise.  
  
Sincerely,  
  
H./  
  
Harry decided it was safe to send Hedwig. She returned with a reply two days later (Monday), arriving with the rest of the morning mail at breakfast time.   
  
/Dear H,  
  
No, I have no direct knowledge of what Pf says on the MM. That Pf isn't the current me, but the me of 25 years ago. The answer to your first question is yes, but I can't give you complete instructions, only clues. When you solve them you will be able to get some of the information you want, but of course it will not be up-to-date. First, you must ask someone who is not human for help. Second, you will find an important clue on page 818.   
  
I don't know which painting your friends are referring to, but I can make a good guess.   
  
What sort of things do you want to know about W? I might be able to fill you in.   
  
As ever,S/.  
  
Harry puzzled over this letter for a while, chewing his pancakes pensively, and then passed it on to Ron and Hermione. Ron said, "I guess Snuffles knows the same unwritten rule as Fred and George."   
  
Hermione asked blankly, "Page 818 of what?"   
  
"I was going to put you in charge of figuring that one out," said Harry hopefully.   
  
"An offer she can't refuse," said Ron.  
  
"Time for another meeting," said Harry quietly. "Tomorrow afternoon. Ron, will you get Ginny to give a message to Ivy during Potions class?"  
  
"So you're going to invite Ivy to our next meeting?" asked Ron, also in a low voice, after looking around to make sure no Slytherins would overhear him.  
  
"She has information we need," Harry pointed out.   
  
"And she already knows a lot about what we're doing," Neville added.   
  
"She plays a mean game of chess too, but that doesn't make her trustworthy," Ron objected. "She hangs around with that Malfoy scum."  
  
"And she admitted that she might be spying on us for her own purposes," Hermione chimed in. "I must say I don't exactly like it."  
  
"If she is," said Harry, "we won't be able to stop her by leaving her out."  
  
"I don't think we should leave her out," said Neville. "I have a feeling that we need her. Not just for information. She knows what she's doing, and she wants to help."  
  
"She wants to help her precious Uncle Severus, you mean. Well, if we were putting it to a vote, we'd have two in favor and two against," said Ron. "Where does that leave us?"   
  
"I think we should leave it up to Neville," said Harry, "but if you want to break the tie, we could ask Hagrid what he thinks."  
  
Ron thought about that for a minute, then shrugged. "Okay," he said, "I guess I'm outvoted. Don't come crying to me when it backfires."  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
"So the next thing I need to do is talk to someone who's not human," said Harry. The five of them were at Hagrid's again, and he had filled them in about his conversation with the Weasley twins and his exchange of letters with Sirius Black. He had also told them what he knew about the Marauder's Map and its creators.  
  
"Dobby would love to help you," Hermione reminded him. "You gave him his freedom."  
  
"Harry's not that desperate yet," hooted Ron. Hermione frowned at him.  
  
Ivy and Hagrid were looking at each other as if they shared a secret, and wondered if they should spill it.  
  
"You're a Parselmouth, aren't you, Harry? How would you like to talk to a Runespoor?" Ivy asked.   
  
"A Runespoor would be perfect, if I could find one," answered Harry, "but how likely is that? Unless you know something I don't."   
  
"I might."  
  
"Why am I not surprised?" muttered Ron.   
  
Ivy rose from her cushion, and after a whispered consultation with Hagrid, disappeared outdoors. She returned in a few minutes with a three-headed serpent wrapped around her arm. The six-foot length of its body and necks sported imposing black and orange stripes. Fang raised his head, but apparently recognized the snake and didn't consider it a threat.  
  
"Harry, everyone," said Ivy, "Meet my Runespoor, Salazara."  
  
"Isn' she jus' beau'iful?" crooned Hagrid, reaching out to touch the middle head, which moved toward him as if expecting the gesture.   
  
"She's also illegal," said Hermione. "No underage wizard is allowed to keep a Runespoor in Britain."  
  
"Maybe," admitted Hagrid, "but she isn' so dangerous as yeh migh' think. Ivy's got her trained a treat. Usually in Runespoors, the heads don't get on so well, 'cause the one on the right is always criticisin' the other two. Salazara's no different, but at least Ivy's taught her heads not ter bite each other."  
  
"Hagrid looks after her when I can't," said Ivy. "She likes the Forbidden Forest. She finds food there, as well as information. Hagrid reads to her middle head. She understands English, even though she can't speak it. And in return, I let him have her eggs."  
  
"You must be a Parselmouth," said Ron.   
  
"Of course," said Ivy.   
  
"And Hagrid's probably selling the eggs on the black market," said Hermione.   
  
"Lost a few at poker, I reckon," said Ron, and Hagrid nodded sheepishly.   
  
Harry was remembering Ivy's words about Hagrid. He knows things. Important things that most people don't know. "How many people know you have her?" he asked.   
  
"Only my dorm-mates—the fourth-year Slytherin girls—Draco Malfoy, Hagrid, and now you," Ivy ticked them off on her fingers. "Not even Uncle Severus knows about her."  
  
"It's a great honor to be introduced to her, then," said Neville.   
  
"Oh well," shrugged Ivy, "half the fun of owning a Runespoor is being able to show her off. I get a bit tired of having to keep her hidden all the time. Without Hagrid I couldn't manage it. Let me show you a little of what Salazara can do." Ivy addressed her Runespoor in Parseltongue, and Harry understood the exchange.  
  
"/Salazara, what can you see about the people in this room that they would find surprising?/"  
  
The middle head replied, "/One of them owns a wand that is unusual in appearance./"  
  
The left head hissed, "/Ask them to compare their wands, and they will see./"  
  
The right head carped, "/Unless they'd rather not./"  
  
Ivy looked up and said, "Harry, will you translate?" He did, and all of them got out their wands (except Hagrid, of course), passed them around, and studied them with attention.   
  
Ron took Harry's wand and held it next to his own. Suddenly he looked more closely at the business end of Harry's, turning it in his hand to study it from all angles.   
  
"Harry, have you noticed this? The tip of your wand has a scar on it like the one on your forehead. It's even shaped like a lightning bolt."  
  
"Let me see that," said Hermione. She reached over and Ron handed her the wand. "Harry, let me see your scar." Harry obligingly swept back his untidy black bangs, and Hermione held up the wand to compare the two marks. "It's a perfect match, except much smaller," she observed.  
  
Harry had indeed noticed the faint scar on his wand, and he knew what had caused it. He did not, however, wish to discuss it. He had told Ron a very little about what had happened after the third task in the Triwizard Tournament last year, barely mentioning the fact that he had dueled with Voldemort when the dark wizard was newly restored to full power. In fact, very few people knew the whole story. Now he merely said, "Same wizard, same curse," and gave Hermione a look intended to forestall further questions. She opened her mouth, saw his expression, closed it again, and changed what she had been going to say.   
  
"Well, it's very interesting that the two scars are so alike," she remarked, and passed Harry's wand to Hagrid to look at. "Does your wand still work properly?"  
  
"As well as ever," said Harry.  
  
"Just like you," grinned Ron.   
  
"Ah, but you never knew me before I got this," said Harry, tapping his forehead.  
  
"Bet you couldn't even talk yet," said Ron.   
  
"Funny, but I can't remember."  
  
"Well, that scar must be what Salazara meant," said Neville, scrutinizing Harry's wand in his turn. Ivy silently held out her hand for it when he had finished, and she examined it very carefully indeed before handing it back to Harry.  
  
"Could I ask her about the Marauder's Map now?" asked Harry.   
  
"Certainly," said Ivy. "It would probably help if you showed it to her." Harry took the Marauder's Map out of his book bag, unfolded it, and placed it on the floor in front of Salazara. She looked at the transmogrified verse for a few moments without speaking. Then Harry activated the map, and allowed Salazara continue studying it. He decided not to ask her any leading questions, but rather to wait to hear whatever she had to say.   
  
Finally the middle head spoke. "/If you wish to see what is behind the map—/"  
  
And the left head continued, "/Look at its reflection in a mirror./"  
  
The right head added, "/But you may get more than you bargained for./"  
  
The Runespoor appeared to have no more to say. Harry repeated her words in English and folded up the map. "/Thank you, Salazara/," he said to her in Parseltongue.   
  
"/It is an honor to serve the distinguished Harry Potter/," the middle head answered.   
  
"/We will be pleased to serve you again in the future/," said the left head.   
  
"/Except when we are busy with our own affairs/," the right head qualified.   
  
"/Which are never too pressing to make time for Harry Potter/," the middle head asserted.   
  
"/Oh yes they are/," argued the right head.   
  
"Oh no they're not," retorted the left head. "I decide what we do in this outfit, and don't you forget it."  
  
"I think we'd do a lot better under new management. I call for a vote of no confidence," sneered the right head.   
  
"You're lucky we let you stay on at all," warned the middle head. "Party-pooper."  
  
"Airhead."  
  
"Killjoy."  
  
"Tyrant." The conversation degenerated into furious hissing.  
  
"Manners, girls," Ivy scolded. "No name-calling. You may be excused. You've done well." She knelt down and stroked Salazara's heads as they slid over her arms, then said in English, "Behave, darling. I'll see you later." The Runespoor slithered out the door Hagrid held open, still arguing among herselves, but swiftly flattening out in the grass so as not to be seen.   
  
Ivy rose to her feet, looking after Salazara a little ruefully. "She's good about using her words instead of her teeth, but she can still be very rude. The challenge for a Runespoor is to think of herself as a single being rather than three separate ones. But Salazara's still very young. She'll learn." A cold wind blew in and made them shiver, and Hagrid finally stopped peering out the door and shut it.  
  
"Where did you get her?" Neville wanted to know.  
  
"My father gave her to me just last summer. He told me I could keep her at Hogwarts as long as I didn't get into any trouble on her account. He said he had a feeling I might need her help with something. Or someone else might."  
  
"Your father isn't too worried about breaking rules, is he?" remarked Ron.  
  
"Written ones, at least," added Harry.  
  
"Not if there's a good reason for it," Ivy replied. "My father doesn't actually see the future, but he gets premonitions rather often, and he's learned to act on them. But he made it clear that if I'd decided on my own to take a Runespoor to Hogwarts without his knowledge or consent, he would be very displeased."  
  
"Well, I like that!" exploded Ron. "Consistent, isn't he?"  
  
"More than you might think," said Ivy warmly. "He's always saying that part of life is learning when to break rules. He's got an entire lecture on the subject, which I'd be glad to repeat to you." Ivy's eyes sparkled a little dangerously.   
  
"Thanks, I'll take a rain check," Ron decided.  
  
"I've got a note from Father in case I need it," she assured them all, "and I know that Hagrid will vouch for Salazara."  
  
"That I will," Hagrid agreed, his eyes shining with affection at the thought of the three-headed serpent.  
  
"And we all know how much an endorsement from Hagrid means," Ron teased.  
  
"You've had a pretty distinguished career in rule-breaking yourself, Ron Weasley," Ivy shot back. "If you don't watch out, you'll be in the same class with your notorious twin brothers."  
  
"Maybe so, but Mum and Dad always gave me what for when I did," Ron defended himself. "Especially Mum," he added, remembering a certain Howler from three years back.  
  
"And I suppose that's what makes it all right," Hermione exclaimed impatiently.   
  
"Speaking as an expert rule-breaker," Harry broke in.  
  
"We defer to your great wisdom on the subject, O Scarred One." Now Ron was starting to sound like Professor Trelawney.  
  
"Well, it's about time," said Harry.   
  
"I think I know what you're going to say, Harry," said Neville.   
  
"Well then, you might as well go ahead and save me the trouble," Harry told him.   
  
"You break rules in obedience to a higher law."  
  
"Close enough," said Harry. "Sounds good to me."  
  
"Well, most of the time you do," conceded Hermione.   
  
"Half the time, anyway," said Ron.  
  
"Once in a while," added Harry. "Depends which higher law you're talking about."  
  
"What about the higher law of, um, petty personal revenge?" Neville proposed.  
  
"Yeah, that's always a good one," agreed Harry. "Listen, all of you, tonight I'm going to Secret Room Number Eight to experiment with the Marauder's Map. Anyone who likes can meet me there, but you'd better come separately. Hermione, have you made any headway with our little page number problem?"  
  
"At least I've narrowed it down a bit. Most of the books in the library have less than eight hundred pages," Hermione reported.  
  
"Why didn't I think of that?" Ron exclaimed.  
  
AN: When I introduced Ivy, and even when I brought her to Hagrid's the first time, I had no idea she owned a pet Runespoor, but When I found the Runespoor in /Fantastic Beasts/ I knew I had to give her one, though they are probably not legal pets. My youngest hit on the idea of having Hagrid help her hide it. Hence their friendship. Salazara brought the mirror motif into the story. In chapter 8, "Seeing Things and Hearing Things," you will find more about mirrors, and about another spell, courtesy of Professor Snape, to make Harry's life difficult. 


	9. 8 Seeing Things and Hearing Things

Chapter 8: Seeing Things and Hearing Things  
  
Hermione arrived at Secret Room Number Eight that evening after Harry, Ron, Neville, and Ivy had already assembled there. She was carrying a library book of only moderate thickness, /Madcap Magic for Wacky Warlocks/.   
  
"That's never got eight hundred pages," said Ron in disbelief.   
  
"Not even close," said Hermione. "But it starts on page 734."  
  
"That's really sneaky. I bet even Fred and George wouldn't have thought of that."  
  
"I remember noticing it last year when we were looking for a spell to help Harry with the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament. And you know what else?" she demanded.  
  
"Not until you tell us."   
  
"I found the Bubble-Head spell for breathing underwater in more than one of those books we checked last year. You know, the one some of the other champions were using. There's no reason we shouldn't have found it then."  
  
"Actually, there is a reason," said Harry. He and Ron said in unison, "Dobby."  
  
"Honestly, I'd rather have him for an enemy," Ron said, shaking his head. "What did he do, bewitch the entire library?"  
  
"Can house-elves really do that?" asked Harry.   
  
"Oh, I could tell you stories about our house-elves that would curl your hair," said Ivy. "But I want to know what's on page 818."   
  
"Oh, that. Well, it's the last page of a section on how to make mirror-doubles. I'll show you on something simple." Hermione put the book on the table and produced an apple from her robes. Secret Room Number Eight was furnished with a large oval mirror in a carved frame, and Hermione went over to it. "This works with any ordinary mirror. It doesn't need to be a magical one."  
  
"It works with a magic mirror too, dear," said the mirror. "I'd be happy to demonstrate."  
  
Hermione held up the apple so that everyone in the room could see it reflected in the mirror. She turned it to expose all of its sides to the mirror. Then she took her wand and pointed it at the reflected apple. "Carpe Veritatem!" she chanted. The reflected apple sailed out of the mirror in a high arc, and Harry, instinctively moving into position, caught it as if it were a Snitch. It felt solid and real, and looked completely normal. But when he sniffed it cautiously, it smelled like no apple he had ever eaten. He placed it carefully on the table, and Hermione set the original apple down next to it, turning it to show that each was a perfect mirror image of the other.   
  
"Cool," said Ron. "Let me try that." He picked up the original apple and held it in front of the mirror, but no reflection of it appeared. His reflected hand was empty. "Wait a minute."  
  
"We can't get an unlimited supply of apples that way, can we?" said Neville.  
  
Hermione shook her head. "That's not the way it works. Ron, let me have the apple."  
  
Ron came back to the table and tossed the apple down carelessly. Instead of bouncing, it crumbled into a heap of dust.   
  
"Important lesson: when you make a mirror-double the original object is weakened," Hermione lectured. "It looks the same, but the double sucks most of the substance and reality out of it. If you want to reverse the spell and restore the original object the way it used to be, you have to handle it very carefully."  
  
"Now that you mention it, that apple seemed lighter than it should have," said Ron, looking interested. Hermione took another apple from her robes and repeated the process. This time Ivy caught the mirror-double, and brought it over to the mirror. No image of either apple appeared in the glass.   
  
Hermione touched the mirror-double with her wand. "Fallax," she said, and the double flew out of Ivy's hand and back into the mirror, where it settled into Hermione's reflected hand. "Now the original apple is back to normal, and I'll show you something else." Again she pointed her wand at the mirror image of the apple and said, "Carpe Veritatem," and again the mirror image came through the glass and landed in Ivy's hand. Hermione pocketed her wand, took the double from Ivy, and brought both apples back to the table. "Who has a knife?" she asked. Ron held up a pocket knife. "Cut the mirror-double into four pieces," she told him, and Ron did. "Now bring them to the mirror." Ron gathered up the pieces and sniffed them curiously. "Don't eat any of it," warned Hermione. "Strange things will happen to you if you do."  
  
"What sort of things?" Neville wanted to know.  
  
"First, everything will look backwards to you. The floor plan of Hogwarts will be reversed, most people will look like they're left-handed, and you'll have to hold your schoolbooks up to a mirror to read them. Scissors and screws will go the wrong way, and so will your quills. All of your food will taste very odd."  
  
"No thanks." Neville hunched his shoulders.  
  
"But will you look backwards to everyone else?" asked Ivy.   
  
"The book doesn't say. Now," continued Hermione, "Ron, hold up one piece." He did so, and Hermione touched it with her wand and said, "Fallax." The quarter-double traveled through the mirror until it was opposite the real apple in Hermione's hand. "Now one-quarter of the real apple is back to normal," she said. She did the same to the other three quarters, one by one, and they fitted themselves together in the mirror. "Notice that the real apple looks just the same as it did before, and now it's as whole and strong as ever," she said, "but look carefully at the reflection." Harry, Ivy and Neville crowded close to the mirror to look.   
  
"I see cracks in the reflection where it was cut," said Neville.  
  
"As long as you have all the parts of the double, you can restore the original," said Hermione, putting the reconstituted apple away, "but not if any of the double is destroyed or changed. If you cooked a mirror-double, what you restored would look unchanged on the outside, but it would taste like a cooked apple, and its reflection would look like one."  
  
"I'll bet Fred and George don't know any of this stuff," said Ron. "Think of the jokes they could add to their collection. Can't wait to give them a taste." He smirked in anticipation.   
  
"So all of this is in the book, Hermione?" asked Ivy. She pulled /Madcap Magic for Wacky Warlocks/ towards her, turned to the right page, and studied it for a moment. "Oh, I should have expected this," she said, and held up the book to show the rest of them.  
  
"Ruddy backwards," said Ron. "Of course."  
  
"I used a hand mirror to read it," said Hermione. "It wasn't difficult."  
  
Ivy looked thoughtful. She picked up the double to the first apple and held it up to the mirror. "This double does have a reflection."  
  
"That's because the original was destroyed," said Hermione.   
  
  
  
"And if I used the spell to make its reflection real, would it be just like the original apple?"   
  
Hermione shook her head. "No, a double of a double has unpredictable properties."  
  
"This I have to see," said Ivy, pointing her wand at the reflected apple. "Carpe Veritatem!" The apple obligingly popped out of the mirror and veered in Ron's direction. As soon as he caught it, the skin split into a mouth and the apple burst into song.  
  
/Oh, I wish I were a really truly apple,  
  
That is what I'd bloomin' like to be-ee-ee,  
  
Cause if I were a really truly apple,  
  
Everyone would want a bite of me!/  
  
Ron almost dropped the apple. He stared at it in bemusement as it sang the song again. "Shut up," Ron told the apple after the third rendition, but it kept right on singing. Its voice was high and squeaky and quickly became annoying. "It's not going to happen, you know," said Ron, addressing the wish expressed in the song. "Can't you sing something different?" he pleaded. Apparently not. Ron shrugged and tossed the singing apple back to Ivy, who hastily fallax-ed it back into the mirror, where it mercifully subsided, although its mouth continued to grin at them with a hint of mischief.   
  
"Believe it or not, you were lucky that time," said Hermione.   
  
"Sometimes double-doubles blow up, glow in the dark, change colours, or turn into awful-smelling goo. The book admits that this area of magic needs more research."  
  
"Way cool," said Ron.   
  
"So are we ready to investigate the Marauder's Map?" asked Harry.   
  
"The Marauder's Map is a magical object," said Hermione, "so it's more complicated. You'll see. Go ahead, Harry."  
  
Harry took the map from his robes, unfolded it, and held it up to the mirror. The Sprinkling Can verse was still on it, and the mirror reflected it in a perfectly ordinary way. He turned the back of the parchment to face the mirror, and its reflection, like the original, was completely blank. "I reckon that would have been too easy," said Harry.   
  
Next, he touched the parchment with his wand and spoke the words, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!" The Marauder's Map appeared, and when Harry looked at its reflection in the mirror, the floor plan of Hogwarts was reversed as it should be, but the labeled dots on it were swarming around in confusion, hopelessly lost and disoriented. "Hmmm," said Harry, watching the dot labeled with a backwards "Severus Snape" abruptly leave his office, move quickly down the corridor, and suddenly stop short and turn the other way. The dots on the real map remained undisturbed.  
  
"For some reason the people on the mirror-map aren't reversed," Ivy observed, looking over his shoulder, "even though their labels are."  
  
Neville frowned as a thought came to him. "So if you made a mirror-double of the map …" He paused to work it out. " … Would the real Hogwarts look backwards to all the real people in it?"  
  
"Maybe if you sent the real map into the mirror in its place," said Hermione.  
  
  
  
"Oh, that's REALLY sneaky," said Ron in admiration.  
  
  
  
"I'd better not," said Harry regretfully.  
  
"Not unless you absolutely have to," Ron agreed.  
  
Next, Harry turned the map so that the back of the parchment faced the mirror again. The reflection started out blank, but then words began to appear on it, words that were not reversed.   
  
/Behind the Marauder's Map  
  
Are you curious about the masterminds who created this amazing device?  
  
Are you wondering who Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs really are?  
  
Would you like to know more about them?  
  
Well, have you tried doing what works on the front of the parchment on the back instead?/  
  
"Actually," said Harry, "I haven't."  
  
/Well, that was silly of you./  
  
"I suppose it was," Harry admitted.   
  
/So what are you waiting for?/  
  
Harry shrugged and took the Marauder's Map back to the table, where he laid it face down. The back of it was still blank. He touched it with his wand and said the same spell that showed the map, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."   
  
Nothing happened.  
  
"Well, now I can answer 'yes' to the question the map's reflection asked me," said Harry a bit testily.   
  
  
  
Hermione stopped him before he got up. "Wait, Harry. The map is already revealed. You could blank it first. Or why don't you try the spell for hiding it, on this side?"  
  
"Why not?" Harry followed her second suggestion and tried again, this time using the words, "Mischief managed!"  
  
Sure enough, the words Behind the Marauder's Map began appearing on the parchment, followed by the next three lines of writing they had read in the mirror. After /Would you like to know more about them?/ the script changed.   
  
/Did you think it would be that easy? Now you say the password./  
  
Harry thought about that for a while. Hermione started thumbing through Madcap Magic for ideas. Neville made an I-don't-know gesture and Ivy said, "Don't ask me. Ask the map."   
  
With his wand still touching the parchment, Harry asked it, "What is the password?"  
  
"/What is the password?" is the password./  
  
The map continued at considerable length, and Hermione read the sentences aloud as they appeared.  
  
/MOONY is R.L., a distinguished member of Ravenclaw House. Due to an unfortunate incident in childhood, R. has good reason to dread the full moon. R. excels in his Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, and we suspect we have seen him consorting with a Boggart on the school premises. He is extremely fond of his pet owl, Artemis. He is also quite musical and plays the hummonica. Moony drew the plan of Hogwarts for the Marauder's Map.  
  
/WORMTAIL is the name taken by P.P. of Slytherin, due to the rat form he assumes as an Animagus. P. is also interested in learning about the Dark Arts. He and L. M. enjoy performing flaky experiments on their pet rats, as we have concluded after coming across some of their more peculiar results. Wormtail is responsible for making the Marauder's Map look like an ordinary piece of parchment and for creating the spells that hide and reveal its true nature.  
  
/PADFOOT is S.B. of Gryffindor. He turns into a large, shaggy black dog when the mood strikes him. S. is a Beater on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He is an avid reader of murder mysteries and owns a pet Fwooper. Padfoot found and drew the secret passages (complete with passwords) for the Marauder's Map, an undertaking requiring years of research and the ability to get himself out of more than a few tight spots.   
  
/PRONGS is J. P., also a Gryffindor, whose animal form is that of a stag. J. is Quidditch captain and Seeker for the Gryffindor team. He is Head Boy at Hogwarts. He and L.H., who is Head Girl, are as spoony as can be, and we hope their future together will be long and happy. Prongs gave the Marauder's Map the power to indicate the name and location of everyone at Hogwarts. We still don't know exactly how he did this./   
  
  
  
Harry passed the Marauder's Map around so the rest of them could study it in turn. Based on what she had recently learned, it didn't take long for Ivy to figure out that P. P. was Peter Pettigrew, S. B. was Sirius Black, and J. P. must be James Potter. Hermione explained Remus Lupin's part in the story to Ivy and Neville, telling them how the other three had become Animagi to keep him company during his werewolf time of the month. L. H. was, of course, Harry's mother, the future Lily Potter.  
  
Ron was rereading the blurb about Wormtail. "'Flaky experiments on their pet rats … peculiar results,'" he muttered. "I'll bet you anything you like that L. M. is Lucius Malfoy. Those two must have been quite a pair."  
  
"Draco mentioned to me that his father used to breed rats when he was a student at Hogwarts," Ivy recalled.   
  
"Did Draco tell you what the old git did with them?" growled Ron.  
  
"Not in detail," Ivy replied, avoiding a direct answer.  
  
"Probably a lot of obscene, cruel, and disgusting things," Ron said bitterly.  
  
Harry realized that he had momentarily forgotten Ivy's attachment to Draco Malfoy. He had an uneasy feeling that he would be forcibly reminded of it again before much longer, probably by Draco himself. Someday (still not yet, though) Harry would have to ask Ivy about what was between her and Malfoy. He wondered how much of what Ivy was learning would find its way into Malfoy's ear, and then reminded himself that there was no point in trying to keep from her anything she was determined to find out. He pictured her sitting in the closet, listening to the rest of them and busily putting two and two together. It was too late to exclude her now; it had been too late from the moment he sought her out. He had done so knowing he was taking a risk. Harry still wasn't sure how far he trusted Ivy. But he and his fellow Gryffindors were here now because she had been willing to introduce them to Salazara.  
  
"It might help if you did find out—in detail," Harry said to her. "Especially if he happened to mention Pettigrew."  
  
"I might," she said, looking at him as if she guessed his thoughts.  
  
They discussed some of the other snippets of information the map had given them. Neville explained to Harry that a hummonica is an instrument that hums along when you play it. Hermione wondered what power James Potter had had that was a mystery even to his friends. (Harry wondered the same thing.) Then Harry addressed the map again. "Is there anything else you can tell us?"  
  
/Pushy, aren't you? Not today./  
  
"Okay," said Harry. "Fair enough." He tapped the parchment with his wand and said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!" The words on the back disappeared; then he turned the parchment over and spirited the map away with "Mischief managed!" He folded it and tucked it into his robes. "I'm convinced that this map has more to tell us," Harry said.   
  
"There's a lot of things we haven't tried yet," agreed Hermione.   
  
"So that's it for tonight, then?" said Ron. "What shall we do with this?" He picked up the mirror-double of the first apple. "We could just leave it lying around somewhere for some innocent student to find. Or some not-so-innocent student." His eyes brightened.  
  
Hermione took the apple from Ron's hand and put it back on the table. "Fallax," she commanded it with her wand, and it sailed through the glass and landed next to its reflection on the table in the mirror. "Both of them should be safe there," she said. She picked up Madcap Magic for Wacky Warlocks and marched to the door. "When do you see Professor Snape again?" she turned back to ask.   
  
"A week from tomorrow," said Harry. "Anyone who wants to come and join the fun and games is welcome."  
  
"I second that," added Neville.  
  
In the intervening week, Harry tried to put his extracurricular problems out of his mind and concentrate on his schoolwork, with imperfect success. He had decided to give the Marauder's Map some time off before he tried to wring any more information from it, but he couldn't help thinking about its description of Prongs. We hope their future will be long and happy. But thanks to Wormtail, James and Lily Potter's future had been short, ended by terror and violence. As Harry fed more batches of bright-red Jell-O to his fire crab, now apparently covered with rubies, he looked sidelong at Draco Malfoy, who tried to seem oblivious to him but wore an ominous expression of smug hostility. Draco and Ivy still sat together at meals, and appeared to be on good terms. He whispered in her ear a lot.   
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
When the Wednesday evening for Harry and Neville's session with Professor Snape came round again, Ivy, Ron, and Hermione all decided to go too. Confronted with five students where he expected two, the Potions Master raised his eyebrows in surprise and said, "What have we here? More students in need of my special services?"  
  
"I invited them to come, sir," said Harry.  
  
"So did I, sir," added Neville.   
  
"Well, Miss Parkinson, Mr. Weasley, and Miss Granger," Professor Snape addressed the other three, "are you willing to participate in the exercises I will assign to Potter and Longbottom? They are neither easy nor pleasant, as I am certain they can tell you."  
  
"That's why we're here, Professor," Ron said resolutely. "Hermione and I have already practiced the Tickling Charm and the Drenching Spell. And we know the Opposition Verse, too."  
  
"I'm willing, Uncle Severus," said Ivy with a firm chin.  
  
"Well, I suppose so," said Hermione doubtfully, looking as if she might regret deciding to come after all. Harry realized that Hermione was the only one there who didn't bear a personal grudge against Wormtail, although she had seen with her own eyes what a pitiful excuse for a wizard he was in his human shape. She was attending this session more out of curiosity than anything else; the rest of them had added incentive.  
  
"Very well," said Professor Snape. "Today's lesson will be somewhat different from those we have had in the past. So far we have covered the use of the Opposition Verse as a defense against various short-acting spells and potions. Now I will introduce a spell of longer duration, against which the Opposition Verse will be of little use."   
  
/Please, not a long-acting Sickening Potion/, Harry hoped. /Or a tickling charm either/.  
  
"Your assignment will be simply to perform your daily activities under the effect of the spell. We wil begin with you, Potter." As usual. Snape raised his wand, and Harry felt a familiar dread. "/Phonoperpetuate!/" exclaimed the professor, and Harry waited for something to happen. Slowly he became aware that a tune was playing inside his head, a tune he didn't recognize. It started quietly and gradually grew louder. It sounded scratchy, as if a damaged record were being played on an old-fashioned record player, and every once in a while the needle skipped and a short phrase played itself over and over for a while, until finally the rest of the piece resumed and played to the end. Then the whole thing started over from the beginning.  
  
"And I have to listen to this for how long?" Harry asked.   
  
"You will return to this room tomorrow evening at this time to have the spell lifted," answered Professor Snape. He pointed his wand at each of the other students in turn and spoke the word "/Phonoperpetuate!/" four more times. Soon they all wore the same uneasy, vaguely preoccupied look that Harry sensed on his own face.  
  
"Couldn't you have used a better-quality recording?" Hermione asked irritably, putting her hands over her ears in a futile gesture. "And I think the phonograph needs a new needle."  
  
"Phonograph needles are hard to find these days, Hermione," Harry reminded her. "Most music shops don't sell them anymore." He remembered hearing Uncle Vernon complaining about this very thing when trying to enjoy his collection of long-playing vinyl records on the living-room stereo. Hermione looked at Harry in exasperated amusement.  
  
"This is known as the Broken Record Spell," Professor Snape informed them all with satisfaction. "It is far more potent than Fwooper song in driving its victims to insanity. However, twenty-four hours of it will not put you in any serious danger of permanent derangement."  
  
"What about temporary derangement, Uncle?" asked Ivy.   
  
"It is a risk," he conceded, "but the educational benefits make it worthwhile. There are several things you can do to make the spell less burdensome, but you must discover them for yourselves. Do you have any more questions? Very well. That will be all. Class is dismissed until tomorrow evening."  
  
"I can't believe I let myself in for this," groaned Ron, holding his head, as they left Secret Room Number Eight.   
  
"As long as we get extra credit for it," said Hermione a bit grimly.   
  
"Ivy's got to go it alone," Harry pointed out. "At least the rest of us can stick together."   
  
Ivy shrugged. "Not a problem. I'll just go back to the Slytherin common room and act as if nothing's the matter."  
  
"If anyone can do it, you can, Ivy," said Neville.  
  
"Why don't you put the Broken Record spell on Draco Malfoy so he can keep you company?" suggested Ron. "I'm sure he'll love it. He's already deranged anyway."  
  
The lone Slytherin parted ways with the four Gryffindors, who returned to Gryffindor Tower to take a half-hearted stab at doing homework. Ron muttered the Sprinkling Can verse to himself, but didn't find it very helpful. Hermione was determined not to let a little static set her back in her studies; she wrote steadily on a History of Magic essay with her lips set in a thin line, only to find when she read over her work that it made no sense at all. She flung down her parchment in disgust. "I'll do it in the morning," she decided.  
  
"I wouldn't count on it, Hermione," said Harry, who was trying unsuccessfully to keep his mind on a reading assignment for Transfiguration class.   
  
"Morning? What's that?" said Neville, who seemed to be having trouble keeping his parchment in focus. He had made a shambles of his essay, with some of the lines crossing over each other and even going off the edge of the parchment onto the table, and he was covered with ink blots. Ron took Neville's quill away from him and corked his ink bottle before he could do any more damage. They all decided to give it up as a bad job and go to bed.  
  
Harry resigned himself to a sleepless night; any fleeting slumber that might come his way he would regard as a bonus. Sometime during the small hours he actually did doze off from sheer exhaustion, but the record continued to crackle away in his dreams. He woke up far too early and lay in bed wondering how long it would take for the spell to drive him over the brink of sanity. He dressed in the darkness and went down to the common room to find Hermione already there, taking another crack at her homework. She looked up when he came in and said excitedly, "Harry, I finally turned the record over!"  
  
Harry rubbed his eyes. "Turned the record over?" he repeated. "How?"  
  
"Yes, if you wait until the music ends, there's a moment when the static stops too, and if you picture pulling the record off the spindle and turning it over before the needle comes down again, you can get it to play a different tune, not quite so scratchy."  
  
"Great, Hermione. Let me try it." Harry sat down in an armchair next to her and concentrated. The timing was crucial; he missed it on the first try, and had to wait through another rendition before he could make another attempt. Fortunately (or unfortunately) the record was a single, not an LP. Probably 45 RPM, too, Harry thought.   
  
Ron and Neville appeared and Hermione told them, "Don't bother Harry; he's trying to turn over his record."  
  
"Turn over his what?" Ron asked blankly.   
  
  
  
Hermione sighed. "If you had taken Muggle Studies, Ron, I wouldn't have to explain to you about record players." She proceeded to do so, and then ended thoughtfully, "Whoever originated this spell must have been a student of Muggle artifacts."  
  
"Like my Dad," said Ron.   
  
"But with a much sicker and more twisted sense of humour," said Harry.   
  
"Probably a Slytherin," Ron figured.  
  
Harry said, "Wait … I think I've got it. Yes, I'm playing the other side of my record!" He hummed a bit of the new tune playing in his head.  
  
"That's the one I've got," Hermione confirmed. "It won't take you long to get tired of that one too."  
  
"Maybe I can find the volume control, or even pull the plug," said Harry hopefully.  
  
"I never thought of records having two sides," said Neville.  
  
They arrived at the Great Hall for breakfast early enough to watch most of the students come in. Hermione kept her eye on the entrance used by the Slytherins, and when Ivy appeared with dark-circled eyes, went over casually and said a few quiet words to her. Ivy nodded absently and sat down at the Slytherin table without seeing it. "She says she thinks she might be able to figure it out," Hermione reported to them when she got back to the Gryffindor table.  
  
"If anyone can do it, she can," said Neville, watching Ivy with concern.   
  
Harry forked up a slice of sausage and stopped with it halfway to his mouth. "Guess which class we have first today," he remembered suddenly.  
  
"Double Potions with the Slytherins," sighed Ron.  
  
"At least it's early in the day, so we can get it over with," said Hermione bracingly, as Neville turned white and put a forkful of scrambled egg back on his plate.   
  
"I have to do better in Potions this term," said Neville. "I almost failed the last exam."  
  
"You don't suppose Professor Snape will …" began Ron.  
  
"Go easy on us? Not on your life," said Harry. "That would undermine the whole point of this exercise, as I'm sure he'd say if you asked him."  
  
Ron and Neville still hadn't succeeded in turning their records when they got up and headed for the Potions classroom. "You've got to get it all the way off the spindle," Hermione coached them in a whisper as they walked along the corridor humming under their breaths, "and then flip it right away. Don't worry about putting it back on; the spell takes care of that."  
  
As Harry had foreseen, Professor Snape was not disposed to be lenient. Neville didn't dare ask him to repeat his instructions; he had to rely on Dean and Seamus to fill in the parts he had missed. The other Gryffindors watched with growing puzzlement and the Slytherins with indredulous glee as the four of them blundered through the lesson, spilling ingredients, cutting their fingers, and adding things in the wrong order, in attempting to concoct a relatively simple slug-repellent potion. Even Hermione came to grief when she let her potion scorch on the bottom, something she had never done.  
  
"I don't recall asking you to add human blood, Potter," Snape reproved, watching Harry's cut thumb drip into his cauldron. "I suppose you think you're advanced enough to invent something new instead of following instructions. Five points from Gryffindor."  
  
"I suppose you think I did it on purpose," Harry retorted recklessly.  
  
"What's the matter with you lot?" hissed Parvati as they left at the end of class. "Gryffindor's twenty points down."  
  
"Nice going, Potter," sniggered Malfoy. "We hope you and your friends will keep it up, don't we, boys?" he asked Crabbe and Goyle, who chuckled and nodded agreement.  
  
Fortunately Care of Magical Creatures didn't tax their powers of concentration too much. By this time they had switched colours of Jell-O to gain a better idea of whether the jewels on their fire crabs would change colour one at a time or all at once. Harry and Hermione skipped taking notes that day. Ron's fire crab wandered around eating the wrong flavours off the wrong plates, and he appeared not to hear his classmates shooing it away in annoyance. By the end of class Neville was covered with tutti-frutti Jell-O and had several marshmallows stuck to his robes.   
  
At lunchtime Harry at last found the volume control and lowered the volume on his inner record player. This gave him temporary relief, but the music kept getting louder again and he had to turn it down repeatedly. He tried turning up to see if it would get quieter, but no such luck.   
  
Throughout the interminable afternoon, during which he reversed his record several times, Harry kept himself going by counting down the time left until eight o'clock that evening. Six hours to go … Five hours to go …Four hours to go … They abandoned all pretense at functioning and sat through History of Magic in a glassy-eyed stupor. Fortunately this didn't make them stand out among their fellow fifth-years. As Ron pointed out after Professor McGonagall had sent them out of Transfiguration, thinking they must be coming down with something, it was a good thing Defense Against the Dark Arts didn't meet that day.   
  
Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Ivy all arrived at Secret Room Numbe Eight that evening with commendable promptness. Ivy looked ready to drop. She sat down at the table and closed her eyes. Soon Professor Snape walked in, looking fresh and alert, and swept his eyes over his students' various signs of disintegration. Neville had laid his head down on his marshmallow-studded arms, Ron was absently shredding a scrap of parchment and whistling through his teeth with an edge of desperation, and Harry wore a large, clumsy bandage on his left thumb. Hermione's hair was bushier and her eyes wilder than usual. The Potions master said, "All of you will report on how you managed during the past day, and any discoveries you have made, before I lift the spell. Before we begin I would like to add that the only one of you who even came close to paying proper attention in Potions class was"—Hermione got ready to look modest—"Ivy Parkinson."  
  
Ivy's eyes flew open. "I was?"  
  
"Congratulations, Miss Parkinson, on exercising the discipline of dissimulation. Now who would like to begin?"  
  
"I will," said Hermione without raising her hand. "Early this morning I discovered that I could turn my record over."   
  
"Ah," said Snape, "and how many of the rest of you were able to listen to Side Two?"  
  
Harry and Ivy raised their hands. Harry added, "But only after Hermione did it and told me how."   
  
"Me too," said Ivy. "But it helped that I took Muggle Studies last year."  
  
"Not many Slytherins do," said Hermione, "but they might be surprised at how useful it can be."  
  
"Couldn't get it off the spindle," mumbled Ron. "Whatever that is."  
  
"I'm not sure my record has an other side," said Neville, raising his head. "Whatever that is." He put his head down again.  
  
"Can anyone report anything else of interest?" Snape asked.  
  
"I turned down the volume," said Harry, "but it kept creeping up again."  
  
"Very well," said Professor Snape. "You all did about as well as I expected, though I hoped for a better effort in keeping up appearances." He looked witheringly at Neville, who now sported a marshmallow on his cheek and another in his hair. "I will now lift the spell." He pointed his wand at each of them in turn and said, "/Phonoterminate!/" Sighs of relief filled the room. But when he got to Harry, he paused thoughtfully. "So, Potter, you located the volume control. Did you find it helpful?"  
  
"A little," said Harry. "It's really stiff and hard to turn."  
  
"In that case, Potter, you should have no trouble with another twenty-four hours of the spell," Snape told him. "The extra practice will be useful to you. You may return tomorrow evening to be released from it."  
  
/No, please, sir/ … Harry clamped his jaw on the words before they could escape. He /wouldn't/ beg. Not anything for himself, and especially not from Snape. He stared back at the Professor, the music sizzling in his ears like frying bacon, and thought about giving Snape a good whack on the head with the hot frying pan, splattering him with hot bacon grease and strips of …  
  
"No, he won't, sir," said Neville, breaking in on Harry's thoughts, "because you're going to end it tonight." He sounded quite certain of this.   
  
Snape's wand changed direction until it pointed at Neville. "Perhaps you would like to try another day of it yourself, Longbottom."  
  
Neville looked alarmed, but he didn't quail. "If Harry does, then so will I," he said.   
  
"If you do, you'll make a complete fool of yourself, Longbottom," Snape predicted sourly. "Why, look at you now. Pathetic."  
  
"That doesn't matter," said Neville. "Fair's fair."  
  
Snape continued to glare at him. "Mr. Longbottom," he said coldly, "you persist in seeing this as a game. It is not. If Mr. Potter truly wishes to help your father, he cannot measure his trial by the clock. He cannot say, I will put up with it until eight o'clock, but no later, because then it must end. There is no telling when it will end." He spoke as if from bitter experience.   
  
But Neville countered, "That's no excuse. The training isn't the the race, sir. And you gave your word."  
  
Ron looked shocked and gratified. "That's the stuff, Neville," he breathed.   
  
"Very well," said Professor Snape, "I don't recall making any guarantees, but I will lift the spell. I had no intention of doing otherwise, but I wanted to illustrate an important lesson first." He pointed his wand at Harry and said, "/Phonoterminate!/"  
  
Finally, finally it was over. Harry sagged with relief, closed his eyes, and listened to the beautiful silence running like a cool river through his head. He started floating away on the sweet and gentle current …  
  
"Harry? It's time to go. We're dismissed," said Ron, shaking his shoulder.   
  
"Oh, okay," said Harry, rousing himself with difficulty.   
  
"I hope to see all you at our next session," said Professor Snape.  
  
"Not me," said Ron.   
  
"As you wish," said Snape. "The advanced work we're doing is not for everyone."  
  
Ron opened his mouth as if he might change his mind after all, but shrugged his shoulders and let it drop. The five of them filed out of the Secret Room, Neville walking a little taller than usual in his sticky robes.   
  
"I didn't know you had it in you, Neville," said Ron, looking at his fellow Gryffindor with new respect. "I had to see it for myself. You never act that way in Potions class."  
  
Neville laughed. "You know why. For one thing, I've got Professor Dumbledore to back me up if I need it. Besides, I thought it was a rotten trick."  
  
"Yeah, but still, this is Snape we're talking about. The original monster teacher. Your worst nightmare. Sorry, Ivy," Ron said swiftly to her, "but you know what he's like."  
  
"Yes, I've watched Uncle Severus teach for a long time. He gets the job done, but I never said he was perfect, or even …"   
  
"Any good at all," Ron finished. "Neville, you called his bluff, but would you really have gone through another day of the Broken Record Spell?"  
  
"If I had to," said Neville. "I do all the same assignments that Harry does. That's why I'm there. But I tried to make sure it wouldn't come to that. That's my job too."  
  
Ron shuddered. "I hope I'd do the same in your place." But he didn't sound at all sure.  
  
  
  
"Maybe if it was your Mum and Dad rotting in hsopital, you would," Harry said. He put a hand on Neville's shoulder, giving him a squeeze and getting a smile and a glob of tutti-frutti Jell-O in return. "Professor Snape was right, you know," he said.  
  
"About what?" Hermione demanded.  
  
"That there's no telling when it will end. No being saved by the bell and all that rot."   
  
And on that note, although it was only half-past eight, they all went straight back to their dormitories and fell into bed. Even Hermione left her homework undone.  
  
****************************  
  
AN: A double-double is so unpredictable that it's perfectly plausible for it to sing an Anglicized version of an American commercial jingle from 30 years ago. You might wonder if a git like Uncle Vernon is likely to listen to music. Maybe he just likes to complain about not being able to. As for Neville, he's the sort of person who can stand up for someone else more readily than for himself. 


	10. 9 A Beautiful Mind

AN: This chapter was a brute to write. I was just squirming with embarrassment the whole time. Allusions include a recent film, Lewis Carroll and Edward Lear, and Beatrix Potter (perhaps a distant relative?). Thanks to my anonymous reviewer; many readers have mentioned difficulty remembering which is mine and which Rowling's.  
  
*****************************  
  
Chapter 9: A Beautiful Mind  
  
The next morning at breakfast the ceiling of the Great Hall filled the room with early sunlight and the omelettes had an excellent flavour. Harry noticed that Neville looked freshly scrubbed, and Ron and Hermione were comparing notes on their experience of the day before with every appearance of enjoyment. Ivy actually winked at them from the Slytherin table. Harry was prepared to savour a normal day at Hogwarts, because all too soon—tomorrow, in fact—he would be visiting Frank Longbottom for the third time, and what might happen was anybody's guess.   
  
So Harry went to class, caught up on the previous day's homework over lunch (Professor McGonagall, at least, had given them an extension), and threw himself into Quidditch practice, grateful that Fred and George were running things with their usual lunatic efficiency. He also took time to write another note to Sirius, asking simply, What can you tell us about pet rat experiments? It seemed like no time until he was back in the Gryffindor common room after dinner, doing homework with his classmates.  
  
Hermione looked up from her astrology chart and said, "Harry and Neville, there's something Ron and I want to ask you. I talked to Ivy in the library and she asked me to count her in."  
  
"Fire away," said Harry, not knowing what to expect.   
  
Hermione hesitated a moment, looking down at her parchment and running a thumb over the fine silky strands forming the soft edge of her quill. She said, "Since yesterday, we've got a better idea of what you're up against. We want to know if it would be all right with you—if we joined you tomorrow at the hospital when you see the Longbottoms. If there's any way we might be able to help if we were there."  
  
  
  
"Only if you want us," said Ron diffidently. "It's okay if you don't."  
  
"We could wait outside the door for you if you'd rather," added Hermione, looking at Neville.  
  
"Okay by me," said Harry. "I'd like to have you. But it's up to Neville."  
  
"You know," said Neville, "hardly anybody ever visits my Mum and Dad anymore, except for Gran and me. They don't recognize anyone, they haven't for years as far as anyone can tell, and Gran says that even their close friends have sort of given up on them. It's as if they've died. It's very sad and all that, but life goes on."  
  
"So you wouldn't mind if we came along?" asked Ron. "Even Ivy?"  
  
"Not at all," said Neville. "Unless you were coming just to gawk at a crazy man."  
  
"If it were that, I'd much rather skip it," said Hermione with a shiver.  
  
"Me too. Still, it's bound to be better than the Broken Record Spell," said Ron. "No offense meant, Neville."  
  
"No, it's okay," Neville told him.  
  
  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
So when Lucretia Longbottom arrived at Hogwarts the next day, she, like Snape two days earlier, found more students than she expected. Neville made introductions. "They're all coming with us, Gran," he told her. "They want to help."  
  
Ron and Hermione were visibly nervous, but Ivy appeared self-possessed as usual. They left from the same fireplace they had used the previous time. Floo powder again, Harry thought with a sigh, but he was starting to get used to it, and to the somber hospital atmosphere waiting at the other end of the journey.   
  
Dr. Leech met them there and informed them that Frank Longbottom was stronger and more aware of his surroundings since Harry's last visit, and seemed to understand more of what was said to him. "He's been having occasional violent episodes, as he used to in the past, but lately he's been trying to control them. I heard him say, 'Don't let me hurt anyone.' However, he speaks very seldom and he still won't let anyone else take the Trempath."  
  
Ivy, Ron, and Hermione agreed to wait outside Frank Longbottom's room to start, so as not to tax him with too many new people at once. There was a sort of waiting area nearby with chairs and a few small tables with stacks of pamphlets on them. Hermione picked up St. Mungo's: Five Hundred Years of Excellence, Ron chose Advances in Magical Surgery, probably for its graphic illustrations in living colour, and Ivy absorbed herself in Don't Ever Become a Patient Here if You Can Possibly Help It. Harry watched them for a moment and said, "You look like you're waiting to see the dentist."  
  
Hermione lowered her pamphlet a moment. "Which is the dentist here, you or Frank Longbottom?" she asked. No one had the answer to that one, so Harry, feeling somehow very glad to have his friends handy in case he needed them, took a deep breath to steady his nerves and went in with the two Longbottoms to see Neville's father.  
  
This time, Frank looked up as soon as the door opened. His eyes fastened on Harry."I'm here, Frank," said Harry.   
  
"Harry Potter," the man whispered. "They told me you would come today."   
  
Harry crossed the room and sat next to Frank on the bed. As before, Harry took the Trempath from the other's hand and felt the familiar fierce sting in his scar that meant the Curser was at work. He also sensed a desperate resolve. "I—waited for you," said Frank. "I've tried for years, but I could never see it—him—face to face. I haven't dared—help me."  
  
Harry could see a faint outline of the hooded figure of the Curser. "You want him to show his face?" asked Harry. Frank nodded without speaking and swallowed hard, shivering. "I'll give it a try," said Harry grimly. He stood and faced the Curser, extending his arm to touch the hood which hid its face, but his hand went through it as if through empty air. He tried again with the Trempath pressed against his forehead (oh man, that really hurts), and this time felt something, a faint cottony resistance, still not solid enough to grasp.   
  
But the Curser sensed his presence now. Its hooded head moved as if to look at him. Harry swiftly pulled out his wand, thrust the point under the concealing hood, and flung it back, but no head appeared. Instead the entire robe collapsed, emptied of its occupant, and the pain ceased abruptly. Harry stood there wondering what to do next and feeling an inexplicable dread as if he had drunk Panic Potion. He turned back to the man on the bed. Frank's eyes were dilated with fear. "Do you hear it?" Harry listened hard and heard a squeaking sound that seemed to come from under the empty robe. And did he see a wiggling grey tail? He couldn't be sure.   
  
"The rat," Frank whispered. "It happens every time … and then nothing but rats. It's almost worse than the pain." Compelled by some impulse communicated through the Trempath, Harry looked up at Neville and his Gran, and to his horror he saw instead two human-sized, human-clothed rats, looking completely solid and real.  
  
"I see what you mean," said Harry shakily, turning his eyes from that preposterous vision with his heart pounding. "Does everyone you see look like … ?"  
  
"Rats," said Frank with a shudder. "Except you, Harry."  
  
"You're saying I don't—didn't—look like a rat?"   
  
"Not a bit. You look like your father, Harry." A smile lit Frank's face for a moment.  
  
Harry was beginning to understand why Frank Longbottom found it difficult to recognize visitors, or see anybody at all. He said, getting it clear, "So the Curser turns into a rat whenever you try to look at its face? And then you see everyone else as a rat." Frank nodded. "Do you know what that means?" Harry said excitedly. "Hardly anyone knows this, but Peter Pettigrew is an unregistered Animagus, and his animal form is a rat. He must have been the one who did this to you. He must have put the Curser in your mind."  
  
"Yes. But there's more," said Frank.   
  
"As if that weren't enough," Harry muttered, taking another peek at Frank's whiskered family members and looking away hastily.   
  
  
  
"I can shut out the rat people by sending them away or closing my eyes," Frank went on, making a great effort to speak calmly, "but then I start thinking about what happened when Pettigrew came that day. When he attacked me, I told Aurelle to take our son to safety and send someone—someone to help—but she couldn't find anyone. Must have been his doing. She came back and kept begging him to stop. She told me not to give up … When he finished with me, he started on her. I heard him do it. She didn't even know anything; I made sure of that, and I told him. I shouted out, 'Stop! She knows nothing! She knows nothing!' But he kept on. It was pure spite on his part. And there's something else—something even worse. I can't speak of it.  
  
"If only he had left Aurelle untouched," said Frank, his voice rising, "I could—keep it at bay. But when I think of what he did to her, I'm not—strong enough—to fight the anger. I start raving whenever I see her—so violent I have to be restrained—and I haven't been allowed to visit her for months."  
  
As Frank spoke Harry felt overpowering rage, not only Frank's rage but also his own: pictures of torturing Wormtail began to fill his mind, as they had after his second visit to Longbottom, but this time with terrible force behind them. He trembled with blood lust, the urge to stab and maim. The fury in his mind wasn't satisfied with imagining atrocities; it insisted that he commit them without delay on the first rat he could find.   
  
Harry refrained with difficulty from turning and assaulting Neville and his Gran. "You see how it is," said Frank Longbottom through his teeth. He gripped Harry's free hand hard. They sat in silence for a moment, side by side on the bed. Harry watched jagged red and black splinters jostle and fight with each other in the Trempath.   
  
"You've definitely got a serious problem," said Harry.   
  
"No one's been able to help—not for a long time," said Frank. "I don't know how many people I've hurt, or even who they are—hardly even seen their faces." A hopeless grey cast settled over the coloured shapes in the Trempath, which lost their sharp edges and seemed to squirm with shame.  
  
"They know you're not to blame," said Harry, knowing that this was small comfort. "Listen, this is going to sound completely dotty, but it just might work."  
  
"Bring it on, Harry," said Frank. "I'll try anything."  
  
  
  
"I know you remember the Opposition Verse."  
  
  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Well, there's another version that works a little differently."   
  
  
  
Feeling uncommonly silly, Harry recited,   
  
"/Your sprinkling can drowned me in one submarine,  
  
And forced me to replace your foamiest anteater.  
  
If strudel's improving a newlywed possum,  
  
Where fade wilted flowers of years' mangled blossom,  
  
Buttercream spreads from my shoes top to bottom,  
  
Till toads underground grin from something in autumn./"   
  
Frank looked at Harry in disbelief, and started chuckling. "It sounds almost the same, but it makes no sense at all. Your sprink—half a moment. Say it again, Harry." Harry did, and this time Frank listened with closer attention. He started laughing again. "But—the second line doesn't even rhyme," he pointed out. For some reason that set him off more than ever. He flopped over onto his side on the bed, clutching his stomach and wheezing. Harry, connected to him by the Trempath, found that he had to laugh too. It felt like a mental Tickling Charm, but much pleasanter.   
  
Finally Frank sat up again, all the lines on his face expressing merriment. "I want to learn it. Teach it to me." So they said it over and over until Frank knew it by heart. "I still think it's the funniest thing I ever heard, I don't know why. When I say it, I can see it all," he added dreamily. He had apparently forgotten his anger and fear for the moment. His eyes roved freely around the room, then widened, arrested by the sight of a familiar face. "/Mother?/"   
  
Lucretia Longbottom, looking herself again, stared at her son in amazement.   
  
"Mother, is it really you?"  
  
"Oh yes, Frank," she told him.   
  
  
  
/Hot stuff, it really works/, Harry exulted. I'll have to tell Ron.   
  
  
  
"This isn't the first time you've come, is it?" Frank asked.  
  
  
  
"No, I've been here to see you many times," she told him.  
  
  
  
Harry felt Frank's sudden pang of fear as he asked, "I haven't … hurt you … have I, Mother?"  
  
"Never, Frank. You've only made me very proud." Her voice shook and she wiped her eyes. He held out a hand to her and she came to him, bringing Neville with her. Harry could tell that the old lady was holding back from throwing her arms around him and bursting into sobs, not wanting to jar him out of his lucid state. "I've brought someone else you might remember," she said, putting his hand in Neville's.  
  
Frank Longbottom looked at Neville with dawning recognition. "Aurelle," he said. "I see Aurelle in your face. But you're not Aurelle. I know we had a child … Could you be my son, Neville?"  
  
"Yes, Dad," said Neville.   
  
"But you're nearly grown," said Frank. "You were three years old … Have I lost that much time?"  
  
  
  
"Yes, Dad," said Neville again.  
  
Frank Longbottom shook his head and his look of recognition faded. It was too much to take in all at once. His eyes darkened with the return of his inner demons. "The rats, Harry," he muttered. "They're coming back."  
  
"We'll say the verse again," said Harry. Neville joined in this time, and the three of them said it together twice.   
  
Frank's face cleared. "That's much better," he said. "Why have I never heard it before? Where did it come from?"  
  
"It's a long story," said Harry, deciding not to try to explain about the Marauder's Map. "We found it sort of by accident, but Ron discovered that it's just the ticket for rat revenge fantasies. He and Ivy and I have all been having those lately." No, it was too confusing.  
  
"Your friends?" Frank asked.   
  
"Yes," said Harry. "They came with me today and they'd like to meet you if it's okay."  
  
"I think I'd like to see them for just a short while. It's nice to see human faces again."  
  
Still holding the Trempath, Harry poked his head out of the room for a moment to beckon the others in. Ron had finished with the surgery pamphlet and was now perusing /Gored, Bitten and Crushed: Dos and Don'ts for Treating Injuries Caused by Magical Beasts/. Before he came in with Ivy and Hermione, he tucked it into a pocket, no doubt meaning to give it to Hagrid later.  
  
Frank Longbottom went through the motions of greeting Ron and Hermione. But when Harry introduced him to Ivy Parkinson, Frank looked at her intently, frowning as if to place an elusive resemblance.   
  
"Severus … ?" he said slowly.   
  
"Severus Snape is my uncle, sir," said Ivy. "My father is Octavius Snape."  
  
"I met Octavius too," said Frank. "He came and told me … told me he would take care of Severus."  
  
"He did," said Ivy.   
  
"What of Severus? Is he … well?"  
  
"Uncle Severus was ill for a long time, but he recovered," said Ivy. "He's teaching at Hogwarts."  
  
Frank extended his hand and grasped hers. "You must bring Severus to me," he told her. "I must tell him … tell him ..."  
  
"I'll bring him," said Ivy.   
  
"And will you do another thing?"  
  
"Of course, sir," said Ivy.   
  
"Go to Aurelle," he begged her. "Please see Aurelle. She will know …"  
  
"I'll see her," Ivy promised.  
  
Frank's eyes went blank again, and he closed them. He released his grip on Ivy's hand, and rubbed his eyes wearily. He drew a long breath. "The Curser is coming back," he said. "You've done enough for me today, Harry. I can't tell you how much. But you must leave me now," he added resolutely.  
  
Harry suddenly realized how drained he was. Frank held his hand out for the Trempath and Harry gave it back, not without some reluctance. But he knew the danger of taking too much upon himself, and had no intention of adding to Frank's burden of guilt.   
  
"I'll be back," said Harry.   
  
  
  
"Neville and I will stay with him a bit longer, young Potter," Neville's Gran assured him, "that is, if one or two of you would be kind enough to escort him back to school," she added, turning to Ron, Hermione, and Ivy.  
  
"Certainly, Mrs. Longbottom," said Hermione.   
  
"Sure thing," said Ron.  
  
"I'd like to stay and meet Neville's mother, if I may," said Ivy. "I did promise."  
  
"You can come with us," said the elder Mrs. Longbottom.   
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
As soon as they arrived back at Hogwarts, delayed reaction hit hard. Harry's eyes refused to focus and he staggered when he tried to walk. Ron and Hermione, by unspoken agreement, took him by the arms and steered him toward the hospital wing. "No, really, I'm fine," Harry muttered unconvincingly, but his friends tactfully ignored his words and carried on taking him up to Madam Pomfrey. He saw rats wherever he looked. All the students and teachers passing in the corridors had rat heads and rat tails. In the infirmary, a rat wearing a white apron put him to bed and dosed him with hellebore. It helped, but not enough; the rats pursued him into his dreams.   
  
Whenever he remembered, he recited the Sprinkling Can verse over and over to himself, and before his unbelieving eyes he saw a colorful panorama of sprinkling cans, submarines (some of them yellow), foamy anteaters, strudels, possums, blossoms, streams of buttercream pouring from pairs of shoes, and grinning underground toads. He found this helpful for two reasons. First, he was quite sure none of these visions were real; and second, it gave him a nice rest from the rats. But not for very long; they kept creeping back.   
  
That evening Harry had a visit from a rat with a red handbag and a vulture hat, whom he recognized as Lucretia Longbottom. "I have something to tell you, young Potter," she said. "After you left, we stayed with Frank, and after a while he asked to see Aurelle. He promised he would behave. I told the staff that they should allow it, and they did. Neville, Ivy and I went with him. He was angry, but not violent. When he got back to his own room he wept for an hour, and then he fell asleep, with no potions, drugs, or spells, for the first time in twelve years. Thanks to you, young Potter, my son has been sleeping peacefully these three hours and more."  
  
Harry devoutly wished he could do the same. Still, it was good to know that his own ordeal wasn't completely pointless, because it certainly felt that way. Either he had already gone crazy or he was about to be driven crazy, and he didn't know which was worse.   
  
* * * * * * * *   
  
The next day Harry was sitting up in bed propped on pillows when a rat appeared who was about the right height for Hermione and spoke in Hermione's voice. "Harry, you need to eat something," she said, and handed him a plate with a dead rat on it. Harry felt his gorge rise, and before he could stop himself, he hurled the plate across the room. The plate was made of gold, so it didn't shatter, but it got badly dented, and its contents oozed over the floor. "Sorry. I reckon it wasn't really a rat, was it?" he said.   
  
"A rat? Of course not, Harry," said Hermione's voice. "I brought you some chicken pie. Everyone at lunch thought it was quite tasty."  
  
"That would have been good," said Harry.  
  
"I could get you some more," she suggested.   
  
"If you wouldn't mind," he said, trying not to sound pathetic, and avoiding the sight of her beady eyes and twitching whiskers.   
  
"It's all right, Harry," she assured him. "None of this is your fault." She came back in a few minutes with another plate of pie and a bottle of Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover. Before giving him the plate she muttered the Sprinkling Can verse over it so he wouldn't make the same mistake again. Feeling a bit like Duchess in The Pie and the Patty-Pan (a story he had overheard Aunt Petunia reading to Dudley many years ago), Harry took a cautious bite of what was on the plate; but, finding that it looked and tasted like chicken pie and not like rat (though he had no way of knowing how rat would taste), he finished it eagerly and felt better for it.   
  
A bit later, Professor Snape appeared with a cup of some kind of potion, and he actually looked like himself. Harry was glad to see even the Potions Master's face after the endless procession of rodent heads. "I hear you're seeing things, Potter. This will help to clear the delusions from your mind," he told Harry. "You should stop hallucinating in another day or two."   
  
Harry looked at the potion doubtfully. It was clear, like water, or like—  
  
  
  
"It's not Veritaserum, is it?" he asked suspiciously.   
  
"No, Potter, but it has some of the same elements in it. It will help you to see and be seen without distortion. I took some myself before I came here, so you would recognize me more easily."   
  
Harry took a sip. The potion was tart but not bitter, and more pleasant than otherwise. He drank it down thirstily.   
  
"Did you see rats everywhere you looked, too?" he asked. The professor was silent for so long that Harry thought he might not answer.  
  
"Quite," said Snape drily, at length. "For weeks on end. And after that I kept having relapses, so I was able to develop this concoction and refine it by testing it on myself. Trust me, Potter, it is extremely effective."  
  
Harry was interested. "Did you send some to Frank Longbottom?"   
  
"Naturally I did, Potter, but the hospital staff put me off with a polite thank-you. I don't know if he ever got it. They never asked me to send more."  
  
"Silly of them," said Harry, and closed his eyes.  
  
The first effect Harry noticed was, not that the hallucinations stopped or grew less, but that it became easier to distinguish them from reality. They appeared less solid and more dreamlike.  
  
He was getting very tired of the Sprinkling Can verse and found that it helped when his friends read him things like /The Owl and the Pussy-Cat/ and /The Hunting of the Snark/, although those rhymes didn't have quite the same cleansing effect.   
  
After that, Snape visited Harry regularly, each time with a dose of Anti-Psychedelic Potion. He was actually quite solicitous (for him) and seemed to take a personal pride in the speed of Harry's recovery. On Monday Harry only saw rats out of the corners of his eyes, and on Tuesday he was well enough to return to his classes. He told Neville to be sure that his Dad got some of Snape's potion, even if he or his Gran had to smuggle it into Frank's room.   
  
"I'll take care of it, Harry," Neville assured him. "And you'll be happy to know that our Wednesday get-together with Snape is cancelled this week. You're not up to it yet."  
  
At lunchtime on Thursday, Neville told Harry that Dumbledore wanted to see both of them that afternoon after class in his office. When Harry arrived, Neville was already there, and somewhat to Harry's surprise, so was Neville's Gran.   
  
"Ah, young Potter is here," she said warmly when she saw him.   
  
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Longbottom," said Harry politely.   
  
"Why don't you call me Gran, the way Neville does?" she suggested.   
  
"Fine, if you'll call me Harry," said Harry.   
  
"Fair enough, young P— Harry."  
  
Professor Dumbledore smiled at him and said, "Harry, I've called you and Neville here because Lucretia has some important news."  
  
Harry sat down in the chair provided. "About Frank?" he asked.  
  
"Yes, Harry. You should know that his condition has shown great improvement in the past week. We're all very much in your debt." He nodded to Neville's Gran.   
  
"Frank had a visitor this morning," Lucretia Longbottom told them. "Lucius Malfoy. He just got back from a long holiday. Years ago he bought his way onto the advisory council at St. Mungo's, and in my opinion he has far too much influence there."  
  
Dumbledore nodded as if the same thought had crossed his mind.  
  
"I saw him walk over to Frank's room; he seemed quite agitated. He didn't notice me sitting in the lounge. I heard him mutter something like, 'I can't trust anyone here to keep things from getting completely out of hand.' He opened Frank's door, marched in, and said, 'I hear you're getting better, Longbottom. Congratulations,' but he didn't sound at all happy about it. Frank didn't say anything. I got up as quietly as I could and moved to where I could see Frank's face. He looked angry and frightened, but not as upset as Lucius. Lucius said, 'You're looking at me, and you can see me, can't you? You know who I am, don't you, Longbottom?' I saw Frank nod, but he still didn't answer. Then he turned his head away and refused to look at Lucius again. I went back to my seat and heard Lucius slamming the door on his way out. When he saw me he looked guilty and tried to recover himself. He plastered a false smile on his face and said, 'Ah, Lucretia. You must be very pleased at this turn of events.'   
  
"I said, 'Yes indeed, Lucius,' as if I hadn't noticed anything amiss.  
  
"Then he saw the potion bottle I was carrying in my bag. He said, 'What's this?' and pulled it out without a by-your-leave or if-you-please. He unstoppered it, looked at it, and sniffed it. If anything, he was even angrier than before. He shouted, 'Do you have any idea how dangerous this potion can be? In your son's case it is absolutely contraindicated. I'll dispose of this.' And he left without another word.'  
  
"It was the same potion Professor Snape gave me, wasn't it?" said Harry.   
  
"Yes, it was Severus' potion, young Harry. Neville got it from him. I've only been giving it to Frank for two days, but it's already making a difference, more than any of the herbs I've tried on him."  
  
"Thank you, Lucretia," said Professor Dumbledore. "I think we can all agree on what this means."   
  
"Mr. Malfoy doesn't want my Dad to get better," said Neville. "He's been making sure Dad would stay ill. But why? What has Dad ever done to him?"  
  
"My guess would be that he made the mistake of knowing too much," said Harry. "Lucius Malfoy must have a personal reason for not wanting it known that Pettigrew tortured the Longbottoms, besides the fact that he's a Death Eater."   
  
"You're sure he's one of them?" asked Neville's Gran. Harry nodded. "I never did trust that Lucius," she muttered.  
  
"Neville," said Dumbledore, "it's your job to keep me informed about any plans that you and Harry make on the basis of this information."  
  
"Yes, Professor," said Neville.   
  
"And I needn't remind any of you that the utmost discretion is warranted." Dumbledore looked at each of them as he said this. He dismissed Harry and Neville soon afterward.   
  
"Harry," said Neville as they descended the moving spiral stairs, "Are you going to tell me what a Death Eater is?"   
  
"I suppose I will, the next time we meet at Hagrid's," said Harry.   
  
******************************  
  
News: My daughter, Leona da Quirm, has made some illustrations in the manner of Mary Grandpre, which I hope to show you soon. Also, now that HP5 is out and we've read most of it, I want to reiterate that I finished writing this entire book before the release date. Any similarities between the two were arrived at independently. 


	11. 10 Holly and Phoenix Feather

AN: This chapter, on the other hand, was fun to write, once I had worked out the plot very very carefully.   
  
***********************  
  
Chapter 10: Holly and Phoenix Feather  
  
On Friday morning in Defense Against the Dark Arts class Professor Moody was teaching them how to check their food and drink for poison. They were practicing a spell designed to reveal the presence of snake venom. The professor had prepared two small dishes of beef stew for each of them, one of which was contaminated with bubotuber pus, a safer substitute that would make them ill but not kill them if they ate it. Hermione had good reason to respect even the lesser power of the plant extract, which had burned her fingers badly in an unfortunate hate-mail encounter. "The spell works just as well on bubotuber pus, which I've mixed with a small amount of Clabbert pus," Moody assured them. "If you do it correctly, the tampered dish should show a flashing red light, as Clabbert pustules do in the presence of danger. To get full marks for this you must take at least one bite of the stew you judge to be uncontaminated." Hermione looked worried at this, but she squared her shoulders, waved her wand at one of the dishes in front of her, and exclaimed, "Venomonstrate!" The stew remained unchanged. But the other dish, under the same treatment, flashed an imposing blinking red beacon.   
  
"Let's see you give it the acid test, Hermione," said Ron with interest. "I dare you."  
  
Hermione gave him a defiant look and took a heaping spoonful of the stew that had come up negative. She chewed, swallowed, and smiled. "Delicious. Now you try it, Ron."  
  
"Full marks to Hermione Granger," said Moody, "and two points to Gryffindor for going first. Get on with it, class."  
  
Harry reached for his wand and didn't find it. He patted himself and searched his robes, but it wasn't there. He saw Professor Moody's magical eye on him and said, "Er, I must have left my wand in my dorm. Hang on …"   
  
"Go and get it," said Professor Moody. "Five points from Gryffindor." Most of his classmates gave him dirty looks as he left. Running up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, Harry felt distinctly uneasy. Ever since his wand had been stolen at the Quidditch World Cup last year, he had been quite careful with it, keeping it where only he could reach it easily and checking frequently to make sure he had it. He knew it had been in his robes when he had undressed for bed the night before. He searched his bed, his trunk, his night table, and the floor under them. No wand. He looked under the other four beds (finding Neville's pet toad, Trevor, under Seamus' bed, and almost mistaking it for a rat), examined the rest of the floor and the windowsills, and went through his belongings a second time. He descended the tower stairs, still keeping an eye out for his wand, and searched the Gryffindor common room to no avail. With a sinking heart, he returned to class, still scanning the floor as he went, but without much hope.   
  
"Sorry," he panted to Moody when he got back, shaking his head to indicate that he hadn't found his wand.   
  
"You'll have to share one with a classmate for now," growled Moody. "If you still can't find it, get a spare from Professor McGonagall."   
  
Ron and Hermione covered for him for the remainder of the morning. After a hurried lunch he went with them to an empty classroom. Hermione peppered him with questions about when he had last seen his wand while she carefully examined his robes. Madam Malkin's robes were made with wand pockets on the inside front, one on each side. Right-handed wizards generally kept their wands in the left-hand pockets, and used the right-hand pockets for other small valuables they wanted to keep handy. Hermione turned back the left front of Harry's robes and said, "Look at this, Harry. Your wand pocket has a hole in it near the bottom. Your wand could have fallen out anywhere."  
  
"Somebody at the laundry slipped up," said Ron. "The house-elves are supposed to keep all the robes in good repair."  
  
"I know I had my wand last night," Harry insisted.   
  
"Maybe it's in the Lost and Found," said Ron. "If it's not, we'll look wherever you've been since then. We have the weekend to search for it before you have to go back to Moody's class."  
  
"I know an excellent wand-detecting charm," said Hermione. "Don't worry, Harry, we'll help you find it."  
  
No one had turned in Harry's wand to the Lost and Found. The three of them (Neville begged off because he was behind in his homework) spent Friday after class and the greater part of Saturday and Sunday wandering around the school, Ron and Hermione pointing their wands wherever they could think of and chanting, "Virgindicate!" when the coast was clear. (Hogwarts students were forbidden to do magic in the corridors.) Hermione had the most success; by the time they gave up on Sunday so they could finish their homework, she had amassed an impressive collection of dusty, forgotten chopsticks, billiard cues, curtain rods, dueling swords, cigarette holders, walking sticks (some of which could still walk), umbrellas, knitting needles, broomsticks, flagpoles, and a couple of magic wands, neither of which was Harry's, and both bearing obvious marks of Chizpurfle infestation.  
  
"Sorry, Harry," sighed Hermione, dumping her plunder in the Lost and Found box on top of a pile of torn and dirty robes. "Maybe someone will turn it in tomorrow, or announce at mealtime that they've found it. Otherwise you'll have to borrow an extra from Professor McGonagall."  
  
"We're meeting at Hagrid's tomorrow," Harry reminded her. "We can think of a plan then." All of them avoided mentioning the more ominous possibilities that had occurred to them.   
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Harry managed to get through his Monday classes still lacking his wand, though Moody did tell him in no uncertain terms that he was not to come to class the next day without one. It was almost with a sigh of relief that he settled into a chair at Hagrid's that afternoon. Surely if they all put their heads together, they could think of something. Ron and Hermione had come with him, and Ivy was already there. She was peering out the window, saying, "Neville might be a bit late. There was something he had to do …"   
  
"He'll come in 'is own good time, Ivy," Hagrid told her. "Yeh won' hurry 'im by lookin' out fer 'im. Have some tea." Ivy sighed and approached the table, but didn't pick up the teapot. She looked down at it, frowning, apparently lost in thought, and came back to stand near the hearth, shivering a little.  
  
"Are yeh cold, Ivy? I can put more wood on the fire," said Hagrid.  
  
"No thanks, Hagrid," said Ivy. She reached into her robes, one hand at a time, and brought out two wands. Pointing one at Hermione and the other at Ron, she said, "/Accio/ wands!" and sure enough, their wands emerged from their robes and flew toward her. Hermione clutched her robes, but too late. Instead of catching them, Ivy commanded, "/Leviosa!/" and settled them on the mantelpiece, propped side by side against the wall. Ron jumped to his feet, yelling, "Ivy, what are you playing at?" But without pausing, Ivy passed both of the wands she held from side to side in the direction of the floor. "/Glutinate!/" she exclaimed, and Ron, finding his feet stuck to the floor, overbalanced and almost fell. Hermione yanked him back just in time and he collapsed into his chair. Ivy said, "/Glutinate!/" again, and added a second layer of invisible cement to the floor, immobilizing the feet and ankles of Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Hagrid.   
  
Hagrid's front door opened and Neville appeared. Behind him, holding Neville's arm twisted behind his back, came Draco Malfoy.  
  
Draco shoved Neville across the floor and into the one remaining chair, tying him to it with a binding spell while Ivy added a third layer of cement around their captive audience. Draco looked around the cabin with a sneer. "What a dump," he said.   
  
Hagrid said furiously, "I don't remember invitin' yeh here, Malfoy. Yeh'd better watch yer tongue." Ron lunged, managed to reach one of Hagrid's china mugs, and flung it at Malfoy, who dodged with Quidditch-trained reflexes to avoid the missile. The mug smashed to the left of the stone fireplace. "Temper, temper, Weasley," Malfoy admonished, swaggering over to Ron and standing just out of his reach, still on the part of the floor that was clear of Ivy's cement spell. "That'll get you in trouble one of these days."  
  
"You'll get in even more trouble one of these days," Ron shot back.   
  
"I can put down more cement, if necessary," Ivy warned, and did so. Harry prudently raised his arms from his sides to keep them free, still admiring Ivy's double Summoning Charm, which must have taken a great deal of practice.  
  
"Well, Ivy, is everything set?" Malfoy asked, looking around and taking in the two wands on the mantelpiece. "Everyone disarmed and ready?"  
  
"Everything's ready, Draco," Ivy replied with her little sideways smile. She placed the wand she held in her left hand next to the other two (it was Neville's), and put her own wand back into her robes.   
  
"Will someone tell me what is going on?" Hermione demanded, sounding like a teacher walking into the middle of a food fight.  
  
"Just sit tight and you'll see," said Ivy. "Can't do much else, can you?"  
  
"Let's see what you've got, Ivy," said Malfoy, holding out his hand.  
  
Ivy drew something out of her robes and held it up. Harry recognized his own wand. She passed it over to Malfoy, who stood holding it with a look of triumph.   
  
  
  
Harry felt a wave of heat go through him. "I trusted you, Ivy," he said angrily.  
  
"I don't recall asking you to trust me," returned Ivy coldly. "I distinctly remember telling you that I wasn't on your side."   
  
"Yeah, I know," Harry admitted. "I thought I had to risk it."  
  
"We hoped it was just a routine disclaimer. Fine print, you know," said Hermione.  
  
"Don't ever ignore the fine print," said Ivy.   
  
"I never trusted you, though, Malfoy," Harry said scornfully.   
  
Malfoy folded his arms and slitted his pale eyes. "I never asked you to, either. Well, let's get on with it." He held up the wand again. "Potter's wand," he said slowly. "You'd like your wand back, wouldn't you, Potter?"  
  
Harry didn't bother answering such a boneheaded question.   
  
"Good news. You can have it back, Potter, on one condition." Malfoy gave Harry time to ask what condition, but again, Harry failed to oblige.   
  
"You can have your wand back, Potter, on the condition that you solemnly swear /never to see Frank Longbottom again./"   
  
Ron yelped in outrage. "What do you know about Frank Longbottom? Did Ivy tell you everything?"  
  
"Not necessarily," said Neville, speaking for the first time. He looked white, but spoke with the calmness of despair. "He may be under orders from another source."  
  
Malfoy gave Neville a look of hatred. "Why don't you stay out of this, Longbottom?"  
  
"I'd like to," said Neville mildly, "but it's just a bit awkward."  
  
"You should have stayed out of this, Malfoy," Ron spat.   
  
"What do you say, Potter?" Malfoy resumed, as if he hadn't heard.   
  
"Promise you'll never see Mad Longbottom again, and you can have your wand back, no questions asked."  
  
"Why do you care if I see him?" Harry asked  
  
"That's my business, Potter," Malfoy retorted. "So decide."  
  
Harry looked steadily back at Malfoy. "No deal," he said.   
  
"Oh, there's one little thing I forgot to mention," said Malfoy softly. "If you don't swear, I'll break your wand in pieces. I mean it, Potter."  
  
"Would you really," said Harry in a skeptical tone.  
  
"You just try me, Potter. You'd better promise, or you'll be sorry."  
  
"No," said Harry.   
  
Malfoy actually looked ever so slightly at a loss at this point. "You'll just sit there and watch me snap it in half right in front of you?"  
  
"Yes," said Harry.   
  
"I think you still don't believe me, Potter. But I really mean it."  
  
"Fine. If you say so."   
  
Still Malfoy hesitated. Breaking another student's wand was a serious offence. And there were witnesses. His eyes flickered over to Ivy, who nodded emphatically.   
  
"All right, Saint Potter, if you're quite sure." He shrugged. "Though I don't know why you put so much stock in hanging around with someone who has all his screws loose."  
  
Malfoy wasn't strong enough to break the wand with his two hands. It resisted his effort stoutly; it bent, but did not snap. He tried again without success, and Harry could feel the strain in his own body. His hands clenched as he watched.   
  
Malfoy looked at the wand with new respect for its toughness. "What do you know, Potter, you still have a chance to save your precious wand." Although he tried to speak contemptuously, he sounded almost pleading.   
  
But Harry, who years ago had refused to perjure himself, no, not even to prevent the smashing of Aunt Petunia's pudding and the risk of being expelled from Hogwarts, stood firm. He shook his head, his jaw set.   
  
"Too weak and spineless to go through with it, Malfoy?" gloated Ron, laughing. "Harry's wand is stronger than you bargained for, huh?"  
  
"Don't do it, lad," said Hagrid.  
  
Malfoy's face twisted with fury. Finally he put his foot on one half of the wand and wrenched up the other end, and at length it gave way with a loud crack and a burst of crimson sparks. Harry felt a jolt of pain in his scar and saw a look of triumphant relief flash across Ivy's face. Malfoy placed the two halves of the wand together and broke it into four pieces, this time with ease, threw them to the floor and taunted, "Told you I'd pay back the favour you did me. Try putting that back together, Potter. I daresay some Spellotape will make it as good as new." His voice shook a little.   
  
Ivy bent and swiftly scooped up the fragments. "Ever the hero, Harry Potter," she said, looking at him enigmatically. She cupped the pieces in her hand and picked out one—the tip. Handing it to Harry, she said, "You might want to keep this as a souvenir, Harry." He put it into his robes without a word, careful not to use the pocket that had let him down, even though Hermione had mended it for him.  
  
Hagrid spoke. "Tha's the most shameful thing I've ever seen. Yeh'll be expelled for this," he said. "Both of yeh."  
  
"I think not," said Ivy, looking brazenly back at him.   
  
"You think not?" echoed Hermione blankly. "Why?"  
  
"I'll show you," said Ivy. She looked up into the rafters of Hagrid's cabin. "Salazara!" she called, and the Runespoor appeared from the shadows above, dropping its black-and-orange coils and slithering down Ivy's upraised arm. Ivy stroked Salazara for a moment, then held the serpent's right head near Neville's neck. "A bite from the right head of a Runespoor is very dangerous and quite painful," she said. "It won't kill, but it causes mental aberrations. Even when the victim receives the antidote in time to restore him, his memory may never be quite the same again."  
  
Hagrid and Ron tried to get up, but the invisible cement held them fast.   
  
Neville had turned pale green. He whispered, "My memory's not all that good to start with."   
  
Malfoy said, "All of you must swear to say nothing about what just happened here to anyone else, or Longbottom here will get bitten. The results might be quite—unfortunate."  
  
Ivy added, "And if by any chance the word does leak out, Salazara will find him, perhaps at night …"  
  
"Don't any of you promise any such thing," Neville tried to sound convincing. "Don't worry about me; I'll be okay."  
  
"/No,/" said Harry angrily. "We won't let you get bitten, Neville. We won't tell. Though I don't know how you can do this, Ivy. You saw the Longbottoms yourself."  
  
"I agree," said Hermione. "We won't tell. But that doesn't mean you won't get found out."  
  
"No, it doesn't," agreed Ivy. "But it helps. Do you agree not to tell, Ron and Hagrid?"  
  
Both of them nodded reluctantly, their eyes riveted to Neville's sickly face and Salazara's long, sharp fangs. Ron snarled, "At least until we capture that bloody snake of yours."  
  
"Fair enough. But it won't happen," said Ivy, and then, "Good. I think we're finished here." She put Salazara down, and the Runespoor slithered up the wall and found a window, open just a crack, by which to leave.   
  
Malfoy looked at his co-conspirator in a satisfied way. "You've done well, Ivy," he said with a hint of condescension. But he seemed nervous.  
  
"Oh, I've behaved beautifully," she told him. "I've swallowed insults to Uncle Severus, Slytherin, and you as if I didn't even hear them. I've been sweet, friendly, and helpful."  
  
Malfoy looked at his watch. "Well, got to go. I've a Quidditch practice in five minutes. See you." He departed in a hurry, leaving Ivy to finish up and face the music.  
  
"Ivy Parkinson," said Hagrid, "before yeh go I've somethin' ter say ter yeh."   
  
Ivy looked back at Hagrid, her eyebrows raised in cool, polite inquiry.   
  
"If Neville here does get a Runespoor bite," Hagrid continued, "and if by any chance yeh don' get expelled fer it, I'll have ter give yeh a failin' mark in Care of Magical Creatures. Settin' a magical creature against a feller student—can't allow that, yeh know." He shook his head. "Have to take a lot of points from Slytherin too."  
  
"I understand, Hagrid. I hope it won't come to that," said Ivy quietly.   
  
Hagrid's eyes flashed. "Still threatenin' me, are yeh?" he rasped. "Even if yeh don't carry out yer threat—I dunno if I can pass yeh, Ivy. Goes against everythin' Hogwarts stands fer. And I'll have ter ask yeh ter keep Salazara outer my way—if I see her I dunno what I migh' do. She's not welcome here any more, and yer not either, Ivy. I don't like the way yeh've repaid my hospitality. And never," his voice rose almost to a roar, "/never bring that Malfoy here again!/"   
  
"I won't. It won't be necessary," said Ivy a little faintly, but still with her chin up. She turned to go without another word. Harry, looking closely, could see that she was trembling. At the door she turned back for a moment, raising her wand. "Dissolute!" she said, and was gone.   
  
Harry, trying to move his feet, found that the the invisible cement yielded a little to his efforts. "We'll be free in a few minutes," said Hermione, also testing her freedom of movement. They sat in stunned silence, waiting for the spell to wear off.   
  
Neville said, "Er, Harry, thanks for saving me from Salazara's fangs. I didn't really want you to let her bite me." He gulped. "I was just pretending."   
  
"I know," said Harry. "You're not the only one."  
  
"Harry's a tough act to follow," said Ron. "But you held your end up, Neville. Say, I think I can move …" He stood up, appeared to wade a few steps through peanut butter, and then reached the unaffected part of the floor. "That's more like it." Harry and Hermione found that they could follow his example. Hermione collected the wands from the mantelpiece, returned them to their owners, and unbound Neville from his chair. He stood up shakily.   
  
"Harry, Neville, yeh've both done yerselves proud," said Hagrid, "but I'll have ter ask all of yeh ter go now, before I say somethin' I migh' regret. Sorry."  
  
"I don't think any of us is ready to talk about this yet," said Hermione. "Could we come back in a couple of days, say, Wednesday?"   
  
"Sure," said Hagrid dispiritedly. "Long as yeh don't bring any Slytherins with yeh," he grumbled. "I feel a righ' fool," he added. "Feel like I been watchin' a ruddy play. An' I don' like the way it came out."  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Harry knew the next thing he had to do. He had put it off long enough. Professor McGonagall looked at him sharply through her spectacles when he presented himself at her office and told her what he needed. "Potter," she said, "do you have any idea what happened to your wand? I assume you've searched for it thoroughly."   
  
"I found a hole in my wand pocket," said Harry, truthfully enough.  
  
McGonagall's brow puckered as she rummaged in a drawer for spare wands left over from a seventh-year wand-making class. "Those pockets are magically reinforced. They shouldn't go into holes. Potter, if you suspect that your wand has been stolen, you should tell me. This is a very serious matter."  
  
"I understand that, Professor," Harry said wearily. He chose one of the wands and tried it out. He turned Professor McGonagall's hair green, orange, and back to black again. It worked well enough, but he was sure he could never conjure a Patronus with it. He paid the two-sickle deposit and pocketed the wand.  
  
"I won't make a public announcement about this, if you would rather I didn't, Potter," she told him, "but I will notify the faculty and the prefects. If your wand hasn't turned up after another week or two, I will have to make inquiries. I cannot let this pass."  
  
Harry resigned himself to the whole school finding out that his wand was missing. So far it had been common knowledge only among the Gryffindor fifth-years, and out of house loyalty they had kept it within Gryffindor. Now he would face both sympathy and gloating from the other houses—one of the prices of fame. If it had been Ron or Neville, nobody would care.  
  
During the next few days, every time he reached for his wand without thinking and came up with the substitute wand instead of his own, Harry was forced to remember that his wand was not just missing, but broken. But his mind kept rejecting that knowledge; he couldn't take it in.   
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
On Wednesday when Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville went back to Hagrid's, they were still in a state of shock. Ivy had turned the tables so suddenly and completely; they still weren't sure it had really happened.   
  
"I'd never ha' believed it o' her. She seemed like such a nice little thing," mourned Hagrid. "Took such good care o' her Runespoor an' all—"  
  
"Hagrid, don't take on. She's a Slytherin. She can't help herself." But Ron's voice was bitter. "And on top of that, she's Malfoy's girlfriend. She can really play chess, though," he said wistfully, then growled, "She plays like a Slytherin. What else could you expect? Why were we so trusting?"  
  
"Ron, you might as well say I told you so and be done with it," said Hermione.  
  
"But I still thought better o' her," Hagrid insisted. "I don't know wha' she sees in that Malfoy, an' tha's a fact."   
  
"You're missing Salazara, too, aren't you," said Hermione, and Hagrid nodded sadly.  
  
"She used to keep Fang and me company of an evenin'," he remembered.  
  
"Maybe we could really capture her," Ron speculated, his eyes gleaming. "Wouldn't it be super? Neville would be out of danger, and I could stand up on the Gryffindor table and make an announcement. 'Guess who broke Harry's wand? Guess who's in BIG trouble?'"   
  
"How would you go about it?" Hermione asked. "Salazara's probably in the Forbidden Forest somewhere, and she'd probably see you before you saw her."  
  
"I'll let you know when I've worked out the details," said Ron loftily. "There's got to be some way to do it. A snake-detecting charm or something. Or we could use Malfoy as bait. Except that she probably wouldn't touch him, he's so disgusting."  
  
"Neville, you said something about Malfoy being under orders from a different source," Hermione recalled. "What was that about?"   
  
"Harry and I were going to tell you about that," said Neville.  
  
"It must have slipped our minds," added Harry, a little sarcastically. "Gran came to tell us about Dad getting a visit from Lucius Malfoy," said Neville.   
  
"Not really?" said Ron. "Somehow I can't see that scum bucket making sickbed visits."  
  
"Really," said Neville. He proceeded to tell them just what he, Harry, and Dumbledore had heard from his Gran.   
  
"And this happened when?" pursued Hermione.  
  
"Thursday morning," Neville replied.   
  
"And Harry's wand went missing the very next day," said Hermione.  
  
Ron whistled. "What do you bet that the old git sent a message to his boy saying, 'Stop that Potter from helping Mad Longbottom He's going to ruin everything.' He and Ivy put their heads together, and the rest is history."   
  
"I feel a righ' fool," Hagrid said again. "It's my fault fer lettin' things get as far as this. I should've never agreed to help Ivy keep that Runespoor in the firs' place."  
  
"But if you had it to do over, you'd probably do the same thing," Hermione pointed out.  
  
Hagrid sighed ruefully. "I can't resist them magical creatures," he said. "I'm not generally all that fond of snakes, not speakin' their laguage as yeh migh' say, but I always wished I could have a Runespoor, they're so unusual. Maybe I've learned me lesson."  
  
To Harry, hearing Hagrid say that was almost worse than losing his wand. A Hagrid cured of his taste for dangerous pets didn't bear thinking about.   
  
The sky was growing dark as the four Gryffindor students emerged slowly and dejectedly from Hagrid's front door. Harry looked over at Hagrid's garden in the deepening dusk, feeling as dead and dried-out as the shriveled remains of the pumpkin vines. A grey, smoky shadow drifted above the decaying vegetation. Something familiar about it arrested Harry's attention. It looked like— Harry gripped Hermione's arm.   
  
"Do you see that?" he whispered. "In Hagrid's garden."  
  
Hermione, Neville, and Ron all looked where he was pointing. "It looks like a ghost," said Hermione, "but not any of the ones we know from Hogwarts."  
  
"Don't you know who it is?" Harry asked. He took a few steps toward the garden, and the rest followed doubtfully.   
  
The ghost drifted nearer to them, and they could see his precisely parted grey hair and neatly trimmed toothbrush mustache. Ron exclaimed under his breath, "Harry, it's Mr. Crouch!"  
  
*********************  
  
AN: This is one of the places where I had to correct a mistake. I had mentioned Crouch Seniorlater in the story as if he were still alive, and my daughter immediately fired me an e-mail saying, "Mommy, Mr. Crouch is dead!" Um ... oops. Yeah. So I decided to put in his ghost. 


	12. 11 The Deadness of Mr Crouch

AN: I thought of several titles for this chapter, including, "The Plaidness of Mr. Crouch," but settled on deadness as being more sensible. Look for a reference to a classic film.  
  
****************************  
  
Chapter 11. The Deadness of Mr. Crouch  
  
Bartemius Crouch Senior had worked until the previous year at the Department of International Magical Cooperation at the Ministry of Magic. Ron's older brother Percy had been his office assistant. Crouch had been murdered on the Hogwarts grounds by his son, also named Bartemius, who had then transfigured him into a bone and buried him in Hagrid's garden. Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge had insisted on concealing the fact that the younger Bartemius Crouch had taught Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts for a full year, disguised as Mad-Eye Moody and working as an agent for Lord Voldemort. The real Moody was actually teaching this year's Dark Arts courses (as far as anyone knew).  
  
The ghost of Mr. Crouch gazed at Harry in silence for a moment as they approached each other. In contrast to their last meeting, when Crouch had not known who he was, this time Crouch looked at Harry with recognition. "Harry Potter," he rasped. "I remember you."  
  
"Yes, Mr. Crouch," said Harry.   
  
"I saw what happened two days ago," Crouch's ghost told him.   
  
"I watched everything through Hagrid's window. I saw how the Slytherin girl betrayed you to Malfoy's son."  
  
"But you haven't told anyone, have you, sir?" Harry asked sharply, remembering Salazara's fangs and Ivy's threat. He glanced at Neville, who looked back at him a bit apprehensively.   
  
Crouch's ghost looked angry and put-upon. "No, Potter, I've told no one. But I and mine have also suffered injustice at the hands of the Malfoy family. I still have a score to settle with Lucius Malfoy." He paused for a moment, then muttered, "I must get back to the office—it's been far too long. Weatherby can't handle the department by himself and I don't know if my messages are getting through."  
  
"But Mr. Crouch, your son—" began Harry.  
  
"My son," said Crouch heavily, "was wrongly accused, convicted, and sentenced to Azkaban. It was Lucius who convinced me—convinced everyone—that he was guilty. But I saw through Lucius in the end. An old servant of his came and hinted at certain things, and I pieced together the rest of it."  
  
"Dobby," whispered Hermione. Dobby had been the Malfoys' house-elf until Harry had freed him.   
  
"Probably had to whack his head on something when he tried to spill the beans," surmised Ron.  
  
"And I knew how deceived I had been," Crouch finished.  
  
"Frank Longbottom told me," said Harry.   
  
"Longbottom /told/ you?" demanded Crouch.  
  
"Not about Lucius Malfoy. But he said that your son didn't do what he'd been accused of. Torturing him and his wife."  
  
"But Longbottom is—he hasn't spoken to anyone for—"  
  
Harry perceived that Crouch's ghost was not up to speed on the Longbottom situation. "You haven't been listening in on all our meetings, then?"  
  
"Not until I saw young Malfoy going in with Frank Longbottom's son," said Crouch, sitting down on the garden wall and sinking through the top layer of stones without noticing. "I could see that some deep plot was afoot and I came to the window to watch. Never trust a Slytherin, Potter."  
  
Next to Harry, Ron was nodding vigorously. "Right," said Harry glumly. "I expect I'll remember after this."  
  
"I knew there would be trouble when my son went to Hogwarts and joined Slytherin House," Crouch went on, knitting his transparent brows. "The Crouch family has habitually produced highly distinguished Ravenclaws. But I confess I had no idea how bad it would be. When he came to trial I was forced to show him no mercy. My reputation and livelihood—the good name of the Ministry—all depended on it. And at the time I was convinced of his guilt."  
  
Harry opened his mouth, but Crouch held up a smoky hand to stop his next words.  
  
"I know, Potter—you're going to tell me that my son was guilty of many other crimes. I don't deny it. But who knows if my own actions drove the boy deeper into the service of Him-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Oh yes, I got him out of Azkaban, according to my wife's wishes, but only to subject him to more captivity. I learned what it was like when he did the same to me. Knowing that things at the Ministry were falling to pieces without me, and that my son was at large, gave me no peace. I tried to warn Dumbledore, but it was too late. I suppose my son is in Azkaban again. I've sent instructions to Weatherby to make inquiries about him, but I've heard nothing."  
  
"I'm afraid it's even worse than that, Mr. Crouch," said Harry. "Your son received the Dementor's Kiss. His soul is gone."  
  
Hermione, Ron, and Neville watched silently as Crouch took this in. The conversation had quickly moved out of their depth. "By whose authority was this done?" Crouch asked ominously.  
  
"No one's," said Harry. "But Cornelius Fudge let a dementor into Hogwarts on his own responsibility, even though Professor Dumbledore had expressly forbidden it. When the dementor saw your son it just …"   
  
"Stop," said Crouch, covering his eyes with his hand, although it made little difference. "Fudge. Malfoy," he brooded. "If it hadn't been for them, things might have gone very differently."  
  
"But Mr. Crouch," Hermione spoke up timidly, "Harry's been seeing Frank Longbottom and his condition is improving. We know who really tortured him now. Your son's name might be cleared of that one charge at least."  
  
But Crouch was shaking his ghostly head. "It's too late. Nothing can be done for him. The only thing that remains is to make Lucius and Cornelius pay for their crimes, even a tenth as much as my son has paid for his." Crouch gazed at Ron for a moment and said, "You're related to Weatherby, aren't you?"  
  
"Slightly," replied Ron, trying not to laugh.   
  
"Please ask him to get in touch with me without delay," Crouch requested severely. "I've let things slide long enough."  
  
"I'll do my best," Ron promised.  
  
Then Crouch turned to Harry again. "Longbottom is recovering, is he?"  
  
"As far as we can tell," said Harry.   
  
"I am glad to hear it," said Crouch. "Longbottom deserves a better fate than to rot away at St. Mungo's for the rest of his life." And with that he drifted away over Hagrid's garden and disappeared.   
  
The sky had grown completely dark except for a scattering of stars. The four Gryffindors looked at each other, all more or less stupefied. "Harry …" Ron croaked.   
  
"Don't ask me anything," Harry snapped. "I don't want to talk about it."  
  
"All right, Harry, take it easy," Ron reassured him. "But I was just thinking that Ivy would sell her soul, her snake, and her suspenders to hear what we've just heard."   
  
"If she had any suspenders," said Neville ingenuously.  
  
"Ron," Hermione exclaimed suddenly, "what makes you think she hasn't?"  
  
Ron looked at her. "Hasn't got suspenders? Oh …" as he took in her meaning. "You think she's probably hiding a few feet away, laughing up her sleeve at us." He listened for a moment, but no telltale rustling, as of someone making a break for it, came to their ears. He stalked around the corner of Hagrid's hut, saying, "Come on out, Ivy, we know you're there." After a pause, the rest of them heard, "/Lumos!/" and saw a flash of wandlight. A few moments later Ron reappeared with the Slytherin girl in front of him, her arm twisted behind her. By unspoken agreement they all moved a short distance away from Hagrid's cabin.  
  
"It's a slimy, poisonous little sneak, isn't it?" Ron grated, his voice shaking with anger.  
  
"I believe it is," Hermione judged.  
  
"What did you hear?" Ron demanded roughly, his fingers tightening on Ivy's arm.  
  
"I heard everything, just the way I meant to," Ivy returned calmly. "Mr. Crouch doesn't seem to realize that he's dead, does he?"  
  
"Did it ever cross your mind that it wasn't your business?" Ron hissed, twisting her arm further. "Say you're sorry," he ordered her. "Say you won't tell anyone."  
  
"I'm not sorry," she retorted. "And I'll tell whomever I choose." Her jaw clenched as Ron increased his leverage on her arm.  
  
"Ron," said Harry quietly, "if you don't leave off, you'll dislocate her shoulder."  
  
"Maybe that's the idea," Ron fumed, but he eased off just a hair. "If you weren't a girl," he threatened, "Wouldn't I just …!" He raised his fist, and Ivy started but held her ground.  
  
"I may not be quite as brawny as you are," she defied him, "but I'd take you on in a duel any day, Ron Weasley."  
  
"That's because you know I'd play fair," Ron said hotly.  
  
"You must really be looking for a snakebite," Ivy informed him frostily. "I'd be only too happy to provide one for you."  
  
"Just what I'd expect from a Slytherin," he taunted her. "Maybe I should break your wand and see how you like it. Or maybe you'd like to steal Malfoy's and turn it over to us, you two-faced little cheat."  
  
"Ron, she's not worth getting into trouble over," Harry said, shivering. It was a cold night and he wanted to go inside, even though he had no appetite for dinner.  
  
"How could you have done such a rotten thing? Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Ron harangued, determined to get something out of her.  
  
"Not to you, I don't," she declined, glaring back at him.  
  
"Being a Slytherin is reason enough, I suppose," he said disgustedly.  
  
Neville looked at Ivy sadly. "Hagrid's awfully upset, you know," he told her. "He may have sounded mad, but he really misses you and Salazara."  
  
Ivy actually looked stricken for a moment. "I know, Neville," she said. "I /am/ sorry about that."  
  
"How touching," sneered Ron. "At least the hardened criminal has something on her conscience."  
  
"Well, we'll have to let her go, but we can't send her away scot free," said Hermione, pulling out her wand. "/Otohoto!/" she exclaimed, and two pointed, furry donkey ears emerged from Ivy's hair and lengthened until their their tips reached well above the top of her head. Hermione finished the job by pointing her wand at the front of Ivy's robes and chanting, "/Virglutinate/," thus cementing Ivy's wand firmly in place. "There, that should do it. It may not teach her a lesson but it'll make me feel better."  
  
"Me too," Ron agreed. When he released Ivy, she did not rub her arm where he had gripped it, Harry noticed, nor did she reach up to feel her ears. She turned her back without a word and melted into the night.   
  
"Pinocchio was always one of my favourite films," said Hermione. "Maybe I should have done her nose too. But as far as I know she hasn't lied to us."  
  
"You can keep that one in reserve," said Ron, rubbing his hands.  
  
"Will she be all right?" worried Neville. "She can't use her wand …"  
  
"Oh, a spot of Mrs. Skower's will put that right in a jiffy," Hermione told him. "She might need to ask for help. She'll hate that."  
  
"Think she'll rat on us?" Ron wondered aloud as they walked back to the school.  
  
"Not to the teachers. She's not a tattletale," said Neville.   
  
"It'd be too embarrassing for her, you mean. But you have to admit she's got more guts than Malfoy," Harry conceded.  
  
"More brains, too," added Hermione.  
  
"That just makes her more dangerous," said Ron.   
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
As the situation finally started to sink in and become real to Harry, a terrible apathy crept over him. Nothing seemed worth the effort. He had lost his zeal for the cause of Frank Longbottom's recovery. I can't do it anymore. It's too hard It's too much to ask. Why does it have to be me? Why can't someone else take a turn? He might as well have said what Malfoy wanted to hear and got his wand back, for all the good he would be to Neville's Dad without it. All his heroic posturing meant nothing.   
  
He couldn't even work up a healthy rage against Ivy, Malfoy, Wormtail, or anyone else. He felt empty, leaden, burned out, more hopeless even than Crouch's ghost, who at least still wanted revenge. At meals his silence was so forbidding that Hermione didn't dare press him to eat more. He looked right through anyone who mentioned his missing wand, as if they didn't exist. He sleepwalked through his classes, doing as little as possible to get by, and even missed a Quidditch practice. He flatly refused to attend his Wednesday night tutorial with Snape, and Neville unhappily went without him and made his excuses, taking Hermione with him for moral support. Ron wouldn't go either; he muttered darkly about Snape being in on Ivy and Draco's dirty dealings. But Snape sent Neville and Hermione away, saying that without Potter there was no point in wasting his time.  
  
Harry tried to talk himself out of his funk. It was only a wand, after all. No one had died or anything. Neither he nor Neville even had a single scratch (although Neville was a bit jumpier than usual and found it even more difficult to concentrate in class). Nothing really tragic had happened. Ron's wand had been broken in an encounter with the Whomping Willow on the Hogwarts grounds, and the next year he had got a new one. But reminding himself of those things didn't help. Harry felt as if his right arm had been torn off. His wand was part of him. The way it had happened was the worst of it—not in an accident or in a fair fight, but by underhanded trickery. He had expected nothing better of Malfoy, but Ivy's betrayal had shaken them all and made them doubt themselves, Hagrid most of all.   
  
The obvious thing to do was to go to Ollivanders and buy a new wand for himself. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. It was odd, but he couldn't shake the feeling that if he just hung tough, things would return to normal, as if the scene in Hagrid's cabin had never happened. He tried to dismiss it as wishful thinking, but it persisted.  
  
He saw a wordless encounter between Hagrid and Ivy in one of the Hogwarts corridors. (Ivy had apparently taken care of her ear problem with no on the wiser.) Hagrid caught sight of her between classes one morning and shot her a furious, beetle-browed glare. Ivy braced herself visibly, but faced Hagrid without flinching. As she passed the gamekeeper, she appeared pale and shaken but determined, and Hagrid looked after her sadly. Harry studied her expression thoughtfully. She looked as if she were hanging tough—waiting for some resolution still in the future, but trying to hold it off as long as possible. Her manner contrasted oddly with Malfoy's unbearable smugness. He strutted around as if he had done something amazingly clever, yet whenever his eyes met Harry's he dropped them hastily. "Knows it'll catch up with him someday," Ron murmured in Harry's ear.   
  
Harry had still another difficulty to complicate his life. His substitute wand showed a growing tendency to pull to the left when he used it. If the wand had done it consistently he could have learned to compensate, but the problem was completely erratic and unpredictable. It ruined his aim for any kind of distant work, for one thing, and also had an odd effect on his transfigurations. On Thursday Professor McGonagall instructed the class to turn pigeons into candlesticks. When Harry attempted the assignment he produced a candleholder with a candle hovering a few inches to the left of the empty socket. The candle immediately fell to the desktop with a clunk, and Harry hastily picked it up and jammed it into the proper hole. Professor McGonagall's sharp eyes caught this little maneuver, and she was behind him in a moment. "What happened, Mr. Potter?" she asked with interest.   
  
"Well, you see, it … it … the candle was in the wrong place," Harry admitted uncomfortably.   
  
"So I see," remarked Professor McGonagall. "What happens when you change it back?"  
  
Harry reversed the spell. The pigeon returned, but something about it wasn't quite right. A ghost image overlapped the bird a little to the left, and their movements were perfectly synchronised, reminding Harry of a malfunctioning television screen (one of the arguments Dudley had used to convince his parents to get cable television for his bedroom).   
  
"Can you explain this, Potter?" the professor asked him. Harry's predicament had by now caught the attention of the whole class.   
  
"My—this wand seems to be a bit off."  
  
"Indeed. Try the transformation again." Harry did so, and this time the candle materialized twice as far from the candleholder as it had been the first time. Professor McGonagall watched silently as Harry put it back in, to the accompaniment of some giggling from Parvati and Lavender.  
  
"Well, Potter, if you choose to make do with that wand, you'll need to learn how to use it," the professor decided at last. "I want you to practice until you can perform the transformation properly. Continue to experiment for homework if necessary." She lowered her voice and added, "I doubt that any of the other spare wands would serve you better."  
  
Harry heaved a sigh. "Yes, Professor."  
  
Hermione, whose own transformation had gone without a hitch as usual, asked, "May I please help Harry, Professor?"  
  
"Certainly, Miss Granger," the teacher told her. "And if either of you wishes to submit a written report on your findings, I will consider giving you extra credit."  
  
For the rest of class time Harry made the switch between pigeon and candlestick numerous times, while Hermione assisted by holding up the candle at different distances from the candleholder. But the wand's capricious behaviour continued to thwart his efforts. The only thing he could count on was that no matter which way he held the wand, it always made a leftward hitch when he cast the spell.  
  
"Well, Harry, it's a student-made wand. What did you expect?" Hermione asked him.   
  
"I think I know why the student who made it left it behind," muttered Harry, shaking the wand and rapping it on the edge of the desk in an attempt to restore its proper balance. Finally, more by luck than skill, he got the pigeon back in one single, solid piece. Professor McGonagall dismissed the class, but allowed Hermione and Harry a few extra minutes in the classroom to continue. Neville and Ron stayed to watch. Harry had just hit on a method of twirling his wand at the moment of magical discharge, which seemed to be helping. It took him a few more tries to get the hang of the wrist movement involved, but with it he was able to improve his control over the resulting transfiguration. At length Harry put the wand away and massaged his arm.   
  
"Thanks for the help, Hermione," he said.  
  
"Good show, Harry," said Ron.  
  
"That's well done, Mr. Potter," said Professor McGonagall. "Learning to use a faulty wand can be a valuable skill. You have completed the assignment with full marks. Now off you go to your next class; don't be late."  
  
Harry hadn't been so absorbed in his schoolwork since the ill-fated Monday meeting at Hagrid's. But now that Transfiguration was over he felt the familiar hopelessness settling over him again. All he had done was to make the best of a bad job.   
  
"You did good work today, Harry," Hermione told him as they left the classroom, sensing the droop in his spirits and trying to lift them.   
  
"Thanks," he said dully.  
  
They arrived at Hagrid's for Care of Magical Creatures just as class was beginning. They had finished with the fire crabs and now they were working with horned toads, whose various body parts made important potion ingredients, as Neville had cause to know from a certain hair-raising detention with Professor Snape.   
  
"Now, class," Hagrid explained, "all of yeh should know that horned toads are pickled when they're bein' bottled for potions work. An' it works even better when yeh can start ter pickle 'em while they're still alive. They need ter be pickled from the inside out, and these special picklin' pickles"—he held up a stone crock—"do the trick nicely. The simple thing would be ter feed the pickles ter the toads, right? But horned toads won't eat pickles. They like spiders best. But spiders won't eat pickles neither. So what we do is feed pickles ter the flies that the spiders eat, cause flies'll eat anythin'. Turns their blood ter vinegar. Then we feed the flies ter the spiders an' the spiders ter the toads."  
  
Crabbe and Goyle seemed to be having difficulty following this. They scratched their heads and looked puzzled. Ron muttered to Harry, "I can't stand spiders, you know I can't. Can't we just feed the flies to the toads?" he asked Hagrid.  
  
"Yeh can try, but horned toads are mighty pertickler in their eatin' habits, Ron. So firs' we need lots of flies an' spiders," Hagrid went on. "I've been collectin' some flies so we can make a start." He held up several sheets of flypaper, all generously speckled with flies. Draco Malfoy made a noise of disgust. Hagrid took out a large pair of scissors and started cutting up the flypaper into pieces, one for each student.  
  
"But won't they be dead by now?" Pansy Parkinson asked in disbelief, receiving her portion and holding it at arm's length with the tips of her fingers.  
  
"No, this sort o' flypaper keeps 'em alive," said Hagrid. "'S got a bit of food on it for 'em. But not much, so they'll be hungry." And so they appeared to be, flapping their wings in frustration but still stuck fast. Each member of the class got a pickle to cut up and distribute among the captive instects.  
  
Harry managed to get close enough to Hagrid to speak to him privately.   
  
"Hagrid, I suppose you know there's someone haunting your garden," Harry murmured, watching his flies slurp up pickle juice.   
  
"Yeh mean Crouch, Harry?" Hagrid asked in a low voice as he prodded some unresponsive flies with a stick. Harry nodded. Hagrid sighed. "Somethin's eatin' away at 'im, tha's plain enough," he told Harry, "but he doesn' talk about it. Mos'ly keeps to himself, on'y comes out at night. Doesn' bother me much. Dunno why he sticks around here, though."  
  
"Don't you know he's buried here?" Harry's voice dropped to a whisper.  
  
"Figgered it was somethin' like that," Hagrid answered.  
  
"He talked to me last night," said Harry. "He wants to pay back Cornelius Fudge and Lucius Malfoy for what they did to his son. He saw Draco Malfoy break my wand. He says never trust a Slytherin."  
  
Hagrid looked unhappy. "I dunno much abou' what happened to his son. But even though Slytherin's made a name fer itself fer producin' dark wizards, it's not true Slytherins're all bad, Harry. Some of 'em's all right."  
  
"Name one," said Harry gloomily.  
  
"Professor Dumbledore trusts Professor Snape," Hagrid argued.  
  
"And he's the best example you can come up with? What about Rita Skeeter?" Harry and Hagrid had both run afoul of the Daily Prophet reporter's malicious quill. But Hagrid looked so miserable that Harry didn't have the heart to press the matter further.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Harry was alone in his dorm room one afternoon, lying on his bed staring at nothing in particular, when Neville came up and found him. He said diffidently, "Harry, could I ask you something?"  
  
"Sure, Neville," said Harry without moving, as if nothing would ever matter again.   
  
Neville sat on the floor with his back against Harry's bed. He said, "I know this probably sounds silly, but—would it help you if I broke my wand, too? I wouldn't mind doing it."  
  
"What possible good would that do?" asked Harry, still staring blankly upward.   
  
"I don't /know/, Harry," said Neville miserably. "I knew it would sound stupid."  
  
"Hey, Neville," said Harry. "You've gone through everything with me. If your wand got broken the way mine did, you'd probably handle it way better than I am. I don't think I want you to show me up that way. It's bad enough that you're better at being tickled."  
  
Neville laughed. "I haven't done the real stuff. Just the practice. I'm the understudy, like Hagrid said."  
  
"But I haven't had to watch my Mum and Dad waste away in hospital all these years," Harry reminded him. "That's you."  
  
"Dad saw me," marveled Neville. "He knew who I was, Harry. Do you know how amazing that is, after all this time?"   
  
Harry smiled for the first time in days. "Lucky you look like your Mum, Neville."  
  
"Gran says Dad was always a great one for noticing family likenesses."  
  
"Listen, don't break your wand, okay? Not without a better reason. It just wouldn't be the same. But thanks for the offer," said Harry.   
  
"There's something else, Harry." Neville paused, and Harry waited. "Ivy. I know it looks bad, but …"  
  
"You're too trusting."  
  
"No, Harry, it isn't that. She just—there must be something behind it that we don't understand. The way she's acting—it just doesn't fit. It doesn't feel right."  
  
Harry was silent.  
  
"You've noticed it too, haven't you?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And you've been telling yourself it's just your imagination," Neville went on.  
  
Harry sat up and Neville turned to look at him.   
  
"I've been doing the same thing," said Neville. "I think we should stop."  
  
"Then I'll start hoping I'll get my wand back after all. And that's impossible."  
  
"All right then, you can give up if you want. I'm going to try to figure this out. I'll bet Hermione has some ideas. I left her down in the common room with Ron." Neville got up and went to the head of the tower stairs. "See you, Harry."  
  
Harry gave a deep sigh and heaved himself off of his bed. "I'm coming too, Neville."   
  
The common room was empty except for Ron and Hermione. The rest of the school was out getting ready to watch Ravenclaw play against Hufflepuff at Quidditch.   
  
"Did you forget today's Quidditch match, Harry?" inquired Ron. "Cho Chang is playing. You should be cheering her on, especially since Hufflepuff is ahead of Ravenclaw in the standings. If you're not going, I am."  
  
Harry had forgotten. He actually felt a flicker of interest.   
  
"Just one thing before we go," said Hermione. "We've been so stunned by what Ivy did that we haven't been able to think straight. But lately I've been asking myself some questions."  
  
"Me too," said Neville.  
  
"Why did Malfoy break Harry's wand in front of so many witnesses? Even a teacher?"  
  
"I've been wondering that myself," said Harry. "Very risky."  
  
"In fact, completely senseless," added Hermione.   
  
"It looked like it was Ivy's idea," said Ron. "She had to egg him on."  
  
"Yes, but why?" Hermione persisted.   
  
"Blamed if I know," said Ron.   
  
"Seems to me it would have been simpler for Ivy just to get Harry and Neville in an empty classroom with Malfoy and Salazara already there," Hermione said thoughtfully.   
  
"Then I probably would have had to promise not to tell the rest of you," Harry realized.   
  
  
  
"That would have been really rough on you, Harry," said Ron.   
  
"Well, she did get me to go into an empty classroom, except that Malfoy was there," said Neville. "She said she wanted to talk about something to do with my Mum."  
  
"That's plausible," said Hermione. "We never did hear what happened when Ivy went to see your Mum."  
  
"Who knows if we ever will," gloomed Ron.  
  
"Next question," Hermione went on. "The wand that Malfoy broke. Are you sure that was actually your wand, Harry?"   
  
"I know my wand when I see it," replied Harry, a little annoyed. "Besides, when Malfoy broke it, I felt it here." He put a hand to his scar.   
  
"And why," Hermione continued, "did Ivy give you back the tip?"  
  
"Well, it does have the twin to my scar on it, if that's what you're wondering," Harry assured her. "I checked. Maybe she returned it to prove that it was my wand."  
  
"May I see it, Harry?" Hermione asked.   
  
"Sure." Harry reached into his right wand pocket and pulled out the wand tip.   
  
Hermione took it and examined it carefully. "Yes, it has the scar on it, and it's just like yours. That sort of mark is difficult to fake." She held it up and compared it with Harry's scar. Her eyes widened. "Harry, I bet you didn't notice this!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Harry, when I compared these two scars the first time, they were exactly the same shape."  
  
"They still are," said Harry.   
  
"Yes, except for one thing. This one is backwards."   
  
Harry took the wand tip back and stared at it, running a finger over the scar on his forehead. "You're right."  
  
"You know what this means, don't you, Harry?"  
  
Harry grinned suddenly, feeling lighter than air. "It means I'd better take really good care of this wand tip," he said, closing his fingers on it and carefully putting it back. "And I think I'd better talk to Ivy, and call another meeting."  
  
"Well, you can't do it now," said Ron. "She's probably on the Quidditch pitch with everyone else. Let's go—they're probably about to start!"  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
It didn't take long for Harry to find an opportunity to talk to Ivy privately. She apparently was waiting to be asked. They stepped into a handy broom closet, and Harry got straight to the point. "Ivy, I think it's about time you gave me my wand back. I really need it."  
  
"What makes you think I have it?" she asked, humouring him.   
  
He indicated his wand pocket. "This isn't the tip of my actual wand. It's part of a mirror-double."  
  
Ivy drew a deep breath, and a smile broke over her face. "Took you long enough, Harry Potter."  
  
"You have it?" Harry exclaimed.  
  
"Safe and three-quarters sound."  
  
"It was Hermione who figured it out," Harry gave credit where it was due, "and Neville who insisted that there was something to figure out."  
  
"I was afraid I was going to have to start dropping hints …"  
  
"So when can I get it back?" Harry asked. "Can you come to Hagrid's tomorrow?"  
  
"Not if he won't let me in the door," said Ivy sheepishly.  
  
"I'll vouch for you, Ivy," said Harry. "And so will Neville. You'd better come, because you have a lot of explaining to do."  
  
Ivy pulled a long-suffering face. "You have no idea."  
  
  
  
"And if you're planning any more tricks, you won't catch us off guard so easily," Harry warned.  
  
"Well, I should hope not," said Ivy. "It's high time you started showing a little reasonable caution."  
  
*******************  
  
AN: Disney's Pinocchio is one of my favorite films too. In the next chapter, "Bargain with Destiny," Ivy explains her actions. 


	13. 12 Bargain with Destiny

AN: Well folks, we just finished reading OOTP, and compared to that my story looks positively ... prissy. Maybe even a little on the wussy side. Except for Ivy; she still holds up pretty well. Anyway, when the dialogue for this chapter starting playing in my head, I thought, hey, Ivy sounds a lot like Morgaine in The Mists of Avalon, the part near the end where Morgaine and Lancelet are talking. Morgaine, the Slytherin, believes in fate, while Lancelet, the Gryffindor, believes in free will. As you may infer from reading my poem "Lancelot Redeemed," while Morgaine may have meant well, I strongly disapprove of her methods. This is where I got the idea for having Lefay blood in the Snape line. This isn't crossover, it's looking at the roots. More at the end ...  
  
*************************************  
  
Chapter 12. Bargain with Destiny  
  
The next day all five of them went to Hagrid's together. Try to hide it as she would, Ivy was a bit nervous about facing Hagrid again. Harry had tipped him off ahead of time, but he still looked formidable as he answered his front door. "I invited Ivy to come," Harry reminded him hastily as his eyebrows rushed together threateningly. Ivy slowly reached into her robes and drew out her wand, holding it by the tip and presenting the other end to Hagrid. "As a sign of good faith," she said, "I lay down my arms at your door."   
  
  
  
Ron snorted. "Make a big production of it, why don't you."  
  
Hagrid took the offered wand and his eyebrows unbent a little. "Yeh can come in, then," he said gruffly, pocketing Ivy's wand. "But there'd better not be any funny stuff."  
  
All of them went in and found seats, but Hagrid didn't offer them any tea yet. The situation was too serious. Ivy realized this and got down to business right away. From her robes she extracted a long, narrow case, made of wood in different hues inlaid in intricate patterns, and placed it carefully on the table. "Uncle Severus gave me this wand case when I started at Hogwarts," she said. "Powerful spells have been laid on it to protect its contents from harm." She opened the hinged cover to reveal Harry's wand lying in state in a form-fitting nest of black velvet.   
  
"Super posh," said Ron in admiration.   
  
"Tha's the genuine article, is it?" said Hagrid, bending closer to look.  
  
"Yes, this is Harry's real wand," Ivy assured them, "to be returned to its rightful owner, as soon as it's been completely restored. Hermione, will you do the honours, please?"  
  
"Gladly," said Hermione. "Harry?"  
  
Harry handed her the wand tip he had kept in his robes, and she looked around the room. "Hagrid, have you got a mirror?"   
  
Hagrid looked surprised. "Well, I don't even shave, yeh know, but I've got a bit of lookin' glass ter use when I get ready fer a special do," he said doubtfully. "I dunno if I could lay me hand on it jes' now."   
  
"Never mind," said Ivy. "I brought one myself, just in case." She produced an elegant silver-backed hand mirror and held it up behind the wand case.   
  
"Extra posh," murmured Ron.   
  
"Everybody notice," Hermione directed them, "that the mirror reflection of Harry's wand is missing the tip, and you can see the seams where the broken pieces were joined."  
  
  
  
"No kidding," said Ron, looking in the mirror.   
  
"Three pieces of the mirror-double have already been returned to the mirror," Hermione went on, "and when the fourth one, the tip, is returned, Harry's wand will be as good as new."   
  
"Yeh've lost me," said Hagrid.   
  
"Oh, that's right, you don't know about mirror-doubles, do you?" Hermione remembered. "So much has happened since then … Well, don't worry, I'll fill you in afterwards," she promised him.   
  
"But that wand in the mirror—is that what Malfoy broke?" Hagrid guessed.   
  
"Exactly," said Hermione. "Now I'm going to send the last piece to join the others." She held up the mirror-double wand tip in one hand and pointed her own wand at it with the other. "/Fallax!/" she exclaimed, and the wand tip flew through the mirror and snuggled down in the mirror-wand case with the rest of the reflection. "It's done," she said.  
  
Ivy put the mirror down, closed her eyes, and sagged back in her chair with an expression of profound relief. "It's safe," she said. "Your wand is safe now, Harry."  
  
"You're all right, are you, Ivy?" Neville asked her.   
  
"I am now," she said, opening her eyes and smiling. "Neville, would you like to return Harry's wand to him?"   
  
"Me?" croaked Neville. "But—"  
  
"It's perfectly safe," said Ivy. "Harry's wand is quite as strong as ever."  
  
Neville got up from his cushion on the floor and approached the wand case sitting open on the table. His hand shook as he lifted the wand out. "It seems all right," he said. "Harry, here's your wand back. Er, use it well," he added, trying for a suitable phrase to match the sense of occasion.   
  
"Thanks, Neville," said Harry. "I will."   
  
As soon as his fingers closed on his wand, the familiar tingling warmth traveled up his arm. He felt like himself again for the first time in a week. He waved it, sending out a shower of scarlet and gold sparks, and everyone in the room burst into applause and cheers.   
  
"The wand that's been up a troll's nose," Ron intoned. "Reunited with its owner at last."  
  
"Now tha's more like it," said Hagrid with satisfaction. "Le's have our tea, and Ivy can explain everythin'. And I do mean everythin'," he emphasised, looking at her a little sternly.  
  
"It's rather complicated," said Ivy. "I think we'd better start at the beginning. Hermione, why don't you explain to Hagrid about mirror-doubles; that comes first."  
  
"It would help me remember too," said Neville.  
  
So, while the tea was passed around, Hermione reviewed what they had learned from Madcap Magic for Wacky Warlocks. Harry summarized the new information from the Marauder's Map. And Neville described their joint visit to Frank Longbottom, which he had no trouble remembering.   
  
"That one sent Harry completely around the bend," said Ron. "I never saw anything like his eyes. He wasn't half seeing things. Must have been worse than that broken record thing."  
  
"It was," said Harry.  
  
"But we never heard what happened when Ivy saw Neville's Mum," Hermione exclaimed.   
  
"That's where I was planning to start," said Ivy. "Mrs. Longbottom was unconscious when I saw her."  
  
"Me, too," said Harry. "I mean, when I saw her, too."  
  
"I took her hand," said Ivy, "and I heard her voice in my mind. She seemed to know something about me. She said, You know Severus, don't you, and I answered her in my mind, Yes, he's my uncle. Then she said, The enemy will return. You must stop the danger, but tell no one until you have done it. She wouldn't tell me anything else, even though I asked her to explain what she meant. I said I would try. I didn't know what I was supposed to do, so I just waited to see if it would get clearer."  
  
"Lucius Malfoy," muttered Ron. "Came back from his holiday."  
  
"Rather," said Ivy.   
  
"Sent a message to Draco, right? 'Stop that Potter before he does any more damage."   
  
"Something like that," said Ivy. "How did you know?"   
  
  
  
"My Gran saw Mr. Malfoy when he came back to check up on Dad," said Neville.   
  
"And Draco wanted you to help him figure out a way to stop Harry," Ron went on, saving Ivy the trouble of spilling the beans herself.   
  
"And what happened next?" Ivy played along with an impish smile.   
  
"Then Draco said to you, 'Oh, how I wish I could just snap that boy's wand in half—'"  
  
"Wait, Ron," said Ivy. "You missed the part where I consulted Salazara."   
  
"Oh, how silly of me," said Ron. "Of course you wouldn't do anything rash without getting advice from your pet snake first."   
  
"Salazara's something of a seer, you know," said Ivy just a trifle defensively. "I asked her if she could tell me something about the future that I needed to know. No leading questions. Her middle head said to me, 'Harry Potter will suffer the loss of his wand at Draco Malfoy's hand.'" Ivy caught Ron's incredulous look, and declared, "Yes, really. If you don't believe me, Harry can ask her himself."  
  
"I didn't say a thing," protested Ron.   
  
"And after that—" Ivy paused and Ron picked up his cue, saying, "That must be when Draco said the bit about snapping Harry's wand."  
  
"And I knew that Salazara had seen the future truly," said Ivy.   
  
"But wait, Ivy," said Hermione. "Hasn't Draco ever said anything like that to you before? He and Harry have never exactly got along."   
  
"He's never mentioned Harry's wand before," said Ivy positively. "Not that I remember. And he was determined to do something, because his father had worded his message very strongly. So I thought about what Neville's Mum and Salazara had said to me, and I came up with a plan; and then I offered to steal Harry's wand for Draco."  
  
"You offered to steal it? You suggested it?" Ron almost shouted.   
  
"It was the only thing I could think of to stop the worst from happening," said Ivy. "And I had to steal it ahead of time so I could make the double to use in its place."  
  
"Did it ever enter your head that you were the one who made Salazara's prediction come true?" Ron questioned her.   
  
"I didn't make it come true! I only chose the way it would come true. I had to take matters into my own hands to keep them from going wrong. I promised Neville's Mum I would."  
  
"Go on, Ivy. Shut up, Ron," said Harry.   
  
"Draco had a hard time believing I would really do it, but he told me to go ahead."  
  
"What I want to know is how you did it," said Hermione.   
  
"Well, it wasn't easy. Picking Harry's pocket in the corridor wasn't going to get the job done," said Ivy. "He keeps track of it too well for that. In the end I had to sneak into his dorm room at night."  
  
"That's my dorm room too!" Ron objected. "And Neville's, don't forget."  
  
"I suppose you overheard the password," said Hermione. "And did you already know which room was Harry's?"  
  
"The Marauder's Map helped," said Ivy. "I got a good look at it on the day we experimented with mirror-doubles, and I paid particular attention to Gryffindor Tower, just in case the information might come in handy later. I only had to check a few of the dorm rooms before I found the right one. After I took Harry's wand I made a hole in his pocket to throw all of you off the scent."  
  
"If you want to see everything we turned up, check out the Lost and Found," Harry suggested.   
  
"As soon as I made the mirror-double I put Harry's real wand in my wand case to keep it safe. Ordinarily, the safest thing would have been to put the real wand in the mirror—just a simple exchange. But not this time."  
  
"No way," said Hermione, round-eyed. "It would have been broken along with the double."  
  
"By Malfoy's mirror reflection," remarked Ron. "Is that bizarre or what?"  
  
"After I told him I had Harry's wand, Draco hit on the idea of threatening to break it unless Harry promised never to see Neville's Dad again."  
  
"I'll bet he had a little help from you," grumbled Ron.   
  
"Yes, but that wasn't the hard part. The hard part was getting him to agree to do it here, in front of all of you."  
  
"And how did you?" Harry asked with interest.  
  
"Well, first I suggested that if he broke Harry's wand inside Hogwarts, Dumbledore would sense it happening, but that his power didn't extend over the Hogwarts grounds."  
  
"Is that true?" Hermione asked.  
  
Ivy shrugged. "I don't know; it might or it might not, but it sounds good, doesn't it? I also told him that it would be easier to swear all of you to secrecy together, instead of trying to get you to keep secrets from each other."  
  
"Well, that's true," admitted Harry.  
  
"That was one of the real reasons," said Ivy. "Another was that it was easier to catch you off guard here."   
  
"I'm still not happy abou' that," growled Hagrid.   
  
"I don't blame you," said Ivy. "Well, Draco and I got ready to put the plan into action. But he had a bad case of nerves. He wanted me to promise he wouldn't get into any trouble. I told him I had all the details taken care of and everything would work out. We captured Neville and disarmed him so we could use him for a hostage—"  
  
"And so you could do the double Summoning Charm," added Harry.   
  
"Yes, I have to admit that I was just a tiny bit proud of that," confessed Ivy. "The next thing to worry about was whether you would stand fast, Harry, but I was pretty sure you would. I was more concerned about Draco losing his nerve and funking it. I think he really expected you to cave in to his threats."  
  
"What, in front of all of you? That would be too embarrassing," said Harry.  
  
"Funny how things seem to work out well when you show moral fiber, Harry," said Ron.   
  
"Yeah, Ron," said Hermione. "Maybe you should try it some time."  
  
"Then I had to make sure I got all the broken pieces of the wand back, and I gave the tip to Harry as a clue, hoping that he'd take good care of it and not throw it away …"  
  
"Wait a minute," said Ron suddenly. "Wouldn't it have been a whole lot simpler to let us all in on what you were planning? You could have explained everything to us and just left Draco Malfoy in the dark." He smiled at the thought. "Perfect. It would have been far easier all round."  
  
"That's part of the problem, Ron," said Ivy. "It would have been too easy. I don't know if you realize this, but you can't cheat destiny. Sometimes you can bargain with it, though. Aurelle Longbottom said Tell no one until you have done it. Salazara said Harry Potter will suffer the loss of his wand at Draco Malfo's hand. It had to be as close to real as I could make it. If I had told, and if Harry hadn't really suffered from losing his wand, the real thing would still have had to happen at another time, in another way. I wouldn't have stopped the danger."  
  
The rest of them sat silent for a moment, trying to follow Ivy's convoluted reasoning.   
  
"You may mean well, Ivy, but I think you're delusional," said Ron bluntly. "Hearing voices in your head—asking snakes about the future—bargaining with destiny—I don't know. Maybe it's a Slytherin thing."   
  
"Ron, did you know Professor Trelawney was a Slytherin?" Hermione asked.  
  
"That fits," said Ron.  
  
"Not that I'm putting you in the same class with Professor Trelawney, Ivy—she's a total fraud," Hermione dismissed the Divination teacher.   
  
"Well, ninety percent, anyway," amended Harry.  
  
"I had another reason," said Ivy. "I've heard that Gryffindors are rotten liars, and not very good actors either. If you'd had to pretend, you might have slipped up. As it was, you all acted exactly like yourselves—you were quite the thing, actually. And Ron, throwing the mug added just the right touch. (I can replace it if you like, Hagrid.) But if you'd been in on the plan, you probably would have started laughing at the wrong moment and given the whole show away."  
  
"She's right about that, Ron," said Harry.  
  
Ron face turned red to match his hair and freckles. "I think I'm being insulted."  
  
"Third reason," continued Ivy. "It was less unfair to Draco this way. He's not the only person I deceived. And this way he at least got his petty personal revenge. Harry, I think it's safe to say that your week was completely ruined."  
  
"Well, yeah," said Harry. "I missed my Quidditch practice!" he realized with chagrin.   
  
"I'll bet your week wasn't much fun either, Ivy," said Neville.  
  
"Not much," said Ivy. "Actually, Draco's week has been a bit edgy, too. He's still worried that it will all catch up with him. He can hardly believe he really did it."  
  
"Without you, he probably wouldn't have. He hasn't got much pluck, has he?" said Ron scathingly.   
  
"Doesn't stop him from bragging about it, though." Ivy shook her head at Malfoy's foolishness.  
  
"I've just thought of something else," said Hermione. "If Ivy had seriously wanted to betray Harry and the Longbottoms, she would have done the whole thing differently, wouldn't you, Ivy? You would have threatened Neville with a Runespoor bite unless Harry promised never to see Neville's Dad again. It makes a far more effective dilemma."  
  
Harry's skin crawled as he pictured facing /that/ choice.  
  
"I tried not to let that thought occur to Draco," said Ivy. "It helps that he has no idea how to think like a Gryffindor."  
  
"And you do, I suppose?" said Ron doubtfully.  
  
"You would have had to let Salazara bite me, Harry," said Neville.   
  
"So you cooked up this whole scene for the Malfoys' benefit," said Harry slowly. "To make Draco happy, and to make them both think he'd done what his father wanted." He remembered Hagrid's words, Feel like I been watchin' a ruddy play. "And it's not Draco's fault that he hasn't!"  
  
"No, it's mine," said Ivy.  
  
"So you've betrayed everybody about equally, including yourself, but the worst deal goes to Lucius Malfoy. Not bad, Ivy," Harry approved.   
  
"Ivy, what would you have done if we hadn't promised not to tell?" Hermione asked.   
  
She shrugged. "I would have had to let Neville in on part of the secret. Together we would have concocted a really convincing fake snakebite."  
  
"With a rubber Runespoor?" quizzed Ron.   
  
"Well, I think what Ivy's done is about the bravest thing I ever heard of," said Neville.   
  
"Yeah, because she risked Harry's wand instead of using her own, huh?" Ron asked scornfully.  
  
"Because she let us think she was the enemy. We all got to be mad at her together, and after Malfoy left she faced us down all by herself. Even Hagrid. I bet it would have been loads easier to risk your own wand, wouldn't it, Ivy?" said Neville.  
  
"A thousand times," said Ivy fervently. "My wand hasn't been through anything like what Harry's has. No battle scars and all that. No troll noses, even." She sounded a little envious.   
  
Ron still looked unconvinced. "I still feel as if we've been double-crossed. I don't quite like it. You shouldn't have left us all in the dark. Just Draco Malfoy."  
  
"So it's fine with you if I break Draco Malfoy's trust?" Ivy prodded.  
  
Ron shrugged. "Well, sure. Malfoy's the scum of the earth. He deserves it."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"What do you mean, why? For one thing, he's a Slyth—"  
  
"Wrong answer, Ron," said Harry.  
  
"Well, he's always had it in for Harry. Look what he tried to do to Harry's wand!"  
  
"Look what I actually did to Harry's wand," Ivy reminded him.  
  
"But you gave it back! You're on our side."  
  
"I'm /not/ on your side," Ivy corrected. "How many times do I have to say it? I'm on Uncle Severus' side. It's just happened to work to your advantage so far."  
  
"But—"  
  
"Draco has his own loyalties, and he's true to them in his own way."  
  
"But you're obviously not on Draco's side."  
  
"No. But it's not Draco's fault that his father is what he is. What would you do if your father asked you to do something … something dishonourable?"  
  
Harry couldn't imagine such a thing. "Ivy," he said, "I think it's time you told us what's really going on between you and Draco Malfoy. Are you his girlfriend or not?"  
  
"I can't believe it took you this long to ask me that, Harry," said Ivy.   
  
"You might have said it was none of my business; but you can't now," Harry pointed out.  
  
"True," Ivy replied. She sighed. "Funny you should put it like that. Am I his girlfriend? Not is he my boyfriend?"  
  
"Maybe you're his girlfriend but he's not your boyfriend," Hermione suggested.   
  
"That's how it feels," Ivy said. "He never asked me if I wanted to be his girlfriend. He and Pansy fell out, and he wanted to make her jealous, so he just started acting as if he owned me. I didn't promise him anything, except help with his schoolwork, which really needed it. I thought about putting my foot down and breaking it off, but …"  
  
"But you decided to wait until you could use him back," Ron concluded.  
  
"Yes, but not just out of spite," said Ivy. "When I started suspecting that his father was up to something, I decided I'd better stick around and find out what I could."  
  
"Well, it was lucky you did," said Neville. "I think you were terrific."  
  
"We should go," said Harry, standing up. "It's getting late, and Ivy's been grilled enough for one day."   
  
Hagrid took Ivy's hand, his eyes twinkling, then pulled her into a bone-crushing hug. "Forgive me fer doubtin' yeh, Ivy," he said huskily.   
  
Ivy's giggle was muffled against his broad chest. "Don't be silly, Hagrid. You were supposed to. I planned it that way."  
  
"Mebbe so, Ivy. Mebbe so. But I've known yeh longer than the rest of 'em has. I mighta figgered out that threatenin' people with snakebites wasn't really yer style."  
  
"But you didn't know me—not really. I hated turning you against me, Hagrid. I didn't know it would be so awful. I'm sorry I had to do it."  
  
"Maybe you're on Hagrid's side too," said Neville.   
  
"Maybe I am—a little," she admitted. "That wasn't part of the plan, though."  
  
"Too much planning, Ivy," said Ron, shaking his head.   
  
"And I'd like to apologize to the rest of you, too," said Ivy, "especially Harry and Neville. But if I had it to do over again, I'd still go through with it."  
  
"Well, the next time you decide to sacrifice the good opinion of your friends," said Hermione, "we won't be taken in so easily."  
  
"But we'll know to play along," added Harry.  
  
"With a straight face," Ron put in.  
  
"I'm not sayin' I think much o' yer methods, mind," said Hagrid to Ivy, trying to look stern as he released her and returned her wand to her. "I don't ever want ter see such goin's-on under me own roof again. Once was more than enough."   
  
"You know what they say about lightning and Slytherins," said Ron. "They never strike twice in the same place."  
  
"You just made that up," said Hermione, opening Hagrid's front door and pulling her cloak around her. "Bye, Hagrid. Thanks for the tea and everything."  
  
"Ivy gets to make stuff up," said Ron. "Why shouldn't I?"  
  
Walking back up to the castle, Ron said to Ivy, "Listen, there's something I want to get straight between us. I'm not sorry about most of what I said to you, because you really asked for it."  
  
"I know. I had it coming."  
  
"But I just wanted you to know that I don't really think you'd have to cheat to hold your own with me in a duel."   
  
"Thanks, Ron. That's good to know."  
  
"You might need a lot of luck, though."  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
The next Wednesday when Harry and Neville went to their weekly session with Snape, Hermione and Ron stayed behind, but Ivy came with them.   
  
Professor Snape was not pleased with Harry for missing not just one, but two Wednesdays in a row. "I let the first one pass, because you were still recovering from your delusions," he said. "But last week you simply failed to appear for no good reason. I find that inexcusable."  
  
Harry was so happy to have his wand back, and so relieved to see Ivy back on good terms with them all—especially Hagrid—that he was impervious to Snape's displeasure. "Sorry, sir," he said cheerfully.   
  
Snape scowled. "And have you no explanation for your delinquent behaviour?"  
  
Harry thought about it. "No, Professor," he said without a hint of remorse. "I suppose you'll just have to give me a failing grade."  
  
Neville opened his mouth as if to speak, but couldn't think of anything to say.  
  
Ivy gave Harry an exasperated look. "Still at it, Harry? Why don't you just tell him that it's my fault?"  
  
"Is it?" asked Harry, grinning at her.  
  
Ivy turned to Snape. "Uncle Severus," she said, "Harry didn't come last week because of me. I was putting him through a very difficult test."  
  
"It really was," Neville confirmed, his eyes wide and earnest.   
  
"She gave Neville a pretty rough time too," Harry added.  
  
"Indeed, Miss Parkinson?" Snape inquired with interest. "And can you be a bit more specific about the nature of this test?"  
  
Ivy paused. "I think it would be best if I didn't," she replied.  
  
"I see," said Snape, giving her a searching look. "Might it, by any chance, have anything to do with Potter's missing wand?"  
  
Harry could almost see Ivy think, /I forgot you knew about that./ She said, "It might."  
  
Snape took in Harry's look of insouciant well-being. "I trust that this—test—has been completed," he said.   
  
"Quite," said Harry. He wisely suppressed an urge to add, She did it with mirrors.  
  
"Very well," said Snape. "I will leave it at that for now, but if in the future I find it necessary, I will not hesitate to obtain the full details." He looked menacing enough, but Harry was sure that no one but Ivy could have got away with putting off the Potion Master's questions.   
  
"Now," Snape went on, "we will begin today's lesson. I believe it is time for a review of what we have covered since beginning this course of study." Without further warning, he whipped out his wand, pointed it at Harry, and announced, "Titillo!"   
  
Harry giggled helplessly as he felt the tickling start, but this time, for some reason, he found that he could let go and not fight it. Neville poked him on the arm and reminded him, "Say the verse, Harry!" It had been a longish time, but he still remembered it. "You may think you can tickle me, ha ha ha, into submission …" It wasn't easy, but he kept at it until he had completed the last line, "To all you would, phyuh-huh, gain from this grim, hee hee, inquisition!"  
  
Snape's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Not bad at all, Potter. Can you tell me what made the difference?"  
  
"Yes, sir," said Harry with an air of major discovery. "I was cold this morning and I put on an extra sweater."  
  
"Exactly," said Snape.  
  
Neville looked at Harry in disbelief. "Is that all?" he asked.  
  
"You were expecting him to say it was an enlightened state of being?" Ivy teased.   
  
"Maybe just a little enlightened," Harry conceded.  
  
Snape put Neville through his paces next, and he acquitted himself reasonably well, even though he hadn't put on an extra layer of clothing that day.   
  
"Now, Miss Parkinson, will you take a turn?" the Potions master asked. Ivy nodded. Harry watched with interest to see how she would manage. He had never seen Ivy lose her dignity, not even in moments of crisis.  
  
Snape raised his wand. "/Titillo!/" he exclaimed, and Ivy's mouth twitched with mirth, though she didn't move. She squared her shoulders and started reciting the verse, getting through it with only a few squirms and an occasional snort of laughter. Snape lowered his wand and gave Harry and Neville a meaning look. "Notice that a high level of mastery of the Tickling Charm is possible," he said. He turned back to Ivy. "Not that there isn't still room for improvement, Miss Parkinson."  
  
"Yes, Uncle," said Ivy, her eyes still twinkling.   
  
"Extra sweaters by themselves don't give you results like that," said Harry. "You're not wearing some kind of tickle-proof vest, are you?"  
  
Ivy shook her head. "You can feel if you don't believe me," she said.   
  
"No, I'll take your word for it," said Harry.  
  
They went through the Drenching Spell, the Itching Potion, and the Panic Potion. (Not the Sickening Potion, to Harry's considerable relief.) Each time Ivy distinguished herself.   
  
"You're a natural at all this stuff," Harry told her. "Why am I in charge of this job and not you?"  
  
"Frank Longbottom chose you, Harry," Ivy reminded him.   
  
"Yeah, well, he chose you too," Harry pointed out. "He told you to talk to Neville's Mum."  
  
"True."  
  
"And he asked you to bring Professor Snape to see him …. Did you tell him?"  
  
"Yes," said Ivy. "Uncle Severus said he would come."  
  
"There's something he wants very much to tell you, sir," said Harry to Professor Snape.   
  
"I have agreed to honor Frank Longbottom's request," Snape said coldly, "but I am convinced that no good will come of it. I am not interested in hearing anything he has to say."   
  
"You can't know that, sir," Neville objected.   
  
"Indeed I can, Longbottom," Snape shot back, and Neville dropped the subject. "You are all excused."  
  
**************************  
  
AN: Ivy's bargain-with-destiny philosophy is a bit softer than pure predestination. At least there's room for free will in it. It was at this point that I started to see how Slytherins, even ethical ones, might think differently from Gryffindors. And of course Ivy is not a typical Slytherin, she's a counter-Slytherin. She uses honesty to disarm people, and that in itself is calculated. 


	14. 13 Mischief at Mungo's

AN: Now that I've read OOTP, it's painfully clear that my St. Mungo's is really sucky next to Rowling's. Oh well, did the best I could. If I worked on this another year I could put in all those quirky background details that make her work so tasty. But who has time? Still I did have fun with this chapter. Actually, if this is a crossover, it's a 12-step crossover.   
  
************************************  
  
Chapter 13. Mischief at Mungo's  
  
The next morning at breakfast Ron whispered to Harry, "We have to find out more about Lucius Malfoy. He's somewhere near the bottom of all this."  
  
"Well, Ron, there's his son Draco sitting right over there," said Harry, indicating the Slytherin table, "next to Ivy. Why don't you go over there, take him by the arm, and tell her you need to borrow him for a while?"   
  
"Touché," groused Ron. "Actually, I have an idea. Let's all meet in the Secret Room after lunch."  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
When the five of them had assembled in Secret Room Number Eight and sat down around the table, Ron announced, "I think we should sneak into Lucius Malfoy's office at Mungo's and see what we can find out."   
  
"How do you know he has one there?" Harry asked.  
  
"Floor plan of the hospital for patients and their families," Hermione said, holding one up. "We did a little research when we were there last time."  
  
"Just in case," said Ivy. "You never know when it will come in handy."  
  
"It doesn't show who works in each office," Hermione went on, "unless you perform a Revealing Spell, which I did."  
  
"It doesn't work like the Marauder's Map, does it?" Harry asked.  
  
"No such luck," said Ron. "But it shows us exactly where Lucius Malfoy's office is. We just have to make sure he's not there when we are."  
  
"We should go in secret," added Ivy. "It'll be better if no one knows we're at the hospital at all, or we could be in serious trouble. Maybe we could use Harry's Invisibility Cloak."  
  
Harry didn't bother to ask her how she knew he had an Invisibility Cloak. He just said, "All five of us? Even three is a tight squeeze."  
  
"I won't need it myself," said Ivy, "So that leaves four."  
  
"Some of us can put on staff uniforms and pretend we're nurses and doctors and orderlies and things," said Ron.   
  
"You just want an excuse to sneak around in disguise," Hermione snubbed him.  
  
"Why not?" said Ivy. "Hermione, you and I could be candy stripers." Ron burst into laughter at the thought, and Ivy added, "You can laugh now, Ron, but you'll have to keep a lid on it while we're there."  
  
"Do all of us really need to go?" Hermione asked. "I know a girl here who actually does volunteer at Mungo's. I might be able to get some tips from her. So I'll need to be there. Neville is the most familiar with the hospital, so he'd better come."  
  
"I've been there lots of times. I know where at least two of the supply closets are," said Neville. "I think. As long as I don't get lost."  
  
"Harry has to go, because he knows best what's going on with Neville's Dad," Ron picked up the thread, "and I get to go because it was my idea. It would be a shame to leave Ivy behind, because she's so good at sneaking around; and besides, she hangs around with Lucius Malfoy's son. That makes all of us."  
  
"We still haven't decided how we're going to get there," Hermione reminded them. "Broomsticks aren't secret enough.  
  
"I'm not going to go by Floo powder wearing my Invisibility Cloak," Harry warned. "I don't want it to catch fire."  
  
"We should Apparate," said Ron. "From outside the Hogwarts grounds," he added hastily, forestalling Hermione's interruption.  
  
"I don't know how," Neville admitted.  
  
"None of us does really," Ivy backed him up. "We could really use a Portkey."  
  
"It takes time to make one of those," said Hermione.  
  
"Wait," said Neville, "I think I've got it."  
  
"Spit it out, man," Ron encouraged him.  
  
"There's a tea shop right across from the hospital. It has a fireplace and I think it's hooked up to the Floo network. I know it closes early, because one day Gran and I wanted to have a bite there after our visit, and it was too late; the door was locked and they weren't taking customers."  
  
"So we could go there by Floo powder and walk across to Mungo's," continued Hermione, "Harry could go ahead under the cloak and tell us when the coast is clear."   
  
"We should go after dinner," added Neville. "A lot of volunteers are working then. And Mr. Malfoy will probably have gone home for the day."  
  
"We hope," said Ron. "Are we all free tonight? Let's meet here as soon as we've eaten."  
  
"Come on," urged Hermione. "We don't want to be late for Defense Against the Dark Arts."  
  
But Harry, hurrying to class with the others, was waylaid before he could get there. Colin Creevey, a fourth-year Gryffindor with an unfortunate habit of snapping photos of Harry without asking, called from behind him, "Wait up, Harry! I have something to tell you."   
  
"Make it quick," said Harry shortly. "I'm running late as it is."  
  
Colin slipped a note into his hand. "Professor McGonagall wants to see you after your last class today. Says it's important."   
  
"Thanks, Colin," said Harry automatically, opening the note. He recognized the Transfiguration teacher's handwriting. His heart sank as he realized that she had probably got wind of something about his wand, which was still supposed to be missing. He ran to catch up with Hermione, who was just walking into Moody's class, passed the note to her, tapped the front of his robe where he kept his wand, and mouthed Ivy. Hermione read the note and understanding dawned in her eyes. When Draco Malfoy learned the truth about Harry's wand, he was likely to make things difficult for Ivy. "I'll warn her if I can," Hermione whispered, handing the note back.  
  
"If Mr. Potter and Miss Granger will finish their private conversation," Professor Moody announced, "we can begin." Harry and Hermione both sat down hastily and looked attentive, but Harry, at least, found it difficult to concentrate. Next to him, Ron raised his eyebrows, wondering what was up, and Harry slid the note to him under cover of the desk. Ron flashed him a glance of concern, but didn't dare say anything.   
  
"Would you like to share that note with the rest of the class, Potter?" Moody asked ominously.   
  
Harry had forgotten to make allowances for Moody's magic eye. He shrugged and said, "Certainly, Professor Moody." He held up the note and read, "'Mr. H. Potter: Please see me in my office after classes today. Prof. M. McGonagall.'"  
  
"Thank you, Potter," said Moody. He could see through the note and knew that Harry had read exactly what it said, and fortunately decided not to take any points from Gryffindor.  
  
When Harry arrived at Professor McGonagall's office later that afternoon, Draco Malfoy was already there, trying not to look uneasy. Harry knew the game was up. After class, Ron had advised him, "Pretend you still haven't found it," but Harry was sure that would only make things worse.   
  
Professor McGonagall stood behind her desk, looking even sterner than usual. "Potter, Malfoy, I have called the two of you here because something extremely disturbing has come to my attention. Is it true, as I have heard, that you, Mr. Malfoy, have deliberately broken Mr. Potter's wand?"  
  
Neither Harry nor Draco said a word. Draco's face tightened and his eyes went blank.  
  
"I asked you a question, Mr. Malfoy," snapped Professor McGonagall. "You will be so good as to answer me."  
  
Malfoy took refuge in another question. "What makes you think I would do a thing like that, Professor?" His tone conveyed injured innocence, though not very convincingly. "Anyone trying to get me in trouble should remember what might happen," he added quietly, glaring at Harry.  
  
But the Deputy Headmistress refused to be deflected. "That's not an answer, Malfoy. I must remind you that this could have extremely serious consequences."  
  
Harry readily admitted to himself that he was enjoying Malfoy's dilemma. Not knowing the whole truth, his Slytherin classmate would eventually have to fib, come clean, or hedge by saying it was an accident or not his own idea. But any degree of honesty on Malfoy's part posed a risk to Ivy that Harry didn't want to take, and Malfoy's silence was growing guiltier by the second. The prospect of pitting his own word against Harry's must have made him hesitate to lie outright.  
  
"Actually, Professor," said Harry, drawing two wands from his robes, "I got my wand back a couple of days ago, and forgot to tell you. And thanks for the spare; I won't need it anymore." He laid the spare wand on the teacher's desk and held up his own.  
  
Malfoy's look of wide-eyed astonishment (which Harry also enjoyed immensely) was not lost on Professor McGonagall, although he instantly tried to control it. She looked from one student to the other with her lips pressed together. She examined Harry's wand carefully; Harry knew that Malfoy wanted to do the same but didn't dare be obvious about it.  
  
"And how did you get it back, Potter?" McGonagall asked.  
  
Harry paused. "Neville Longbottom gave it to me," he said with literal truth.  
  
This surprised her. "And how did Mr. Longbottom come to have it? Did he find it?"  
  
"He, er, didn't say, Professor," answered Harry, still avoiding a direct falsehood.  
  
"Your wand appears unbroken, Potter," was McGonagall's assessment, but it sounded like a question.  
  
"Yes, Professor."  
  
"Very well," said Professor McGonagall, looking anything but satisfied. "Malfoy, you may be excused, but don't assume that I'm finished with you. I may wish to see you again later. Potter, I'd like to have a private word with you."  
  
Malfoy left, covering his confusion with a swagger.   
  
Professor McGonagall gave Harry a speculative look. "There's something you're not telling me, Potter," she stated.   
  
"There usually is, Professor," Harry agreed.  
  
"Indeed," she replied, with her first hint of a smile. Harry relaxed a little. "And something you're not telling Mr. Malfoy, either, if I don't miss my guess. I think you may be covering for another student," she went on. "Perhaps I should speak to Mr. Longbottom."  
  
Harry privately didn't think that was such a bad idea. McGonagall was strict, but not unfairly so, and after all, it was up to Neville to decide how much of his private family affairs he was willing to discuss. He would surely protect Ivy if he could. (Snape, too, was likely to keep his own counsel where Ivy was concerned.) But all Harry said was, "Yes, Professor."  
  
She continued to hold his gaze."Professor Dumbledore, too, has chosen not to confide in me about certain things. Things that I suspect have to do with you. But I suppose it's not your place to say anything about them to me."  
  
Harry didn't know what to answer. Instead he said, "Professor, may I ask you a question about Animagi?"  
  
"As long as you're not planning to become one, Potter," she said, much as Hagrid had.  
  
"Of course not, Professor," Harry assured her. "I wrote a paper about them for Care of Magical Creatures and I'm interested in learning more. Are they … ticklish?"   
  
"I beg your pardon?"  
  
"Actually, what I want to know is … is there any sure way to tell an Animagus from an orinary animal, without turning it back into a person? The book I read says there isn't, but I thought you might know something more."  
  
Professor McGonagall was apparently not above feeling flattered by Harry's confidence in her. "Well, Potter," she said, "There is, as the textbook no doubt told you, no single sign or method that works in all cases. But it is possible to take advantage of the basic difference between animals and Animagi, a difference which you cannot distinguish by simple observation of their bodily characteristics."  
  
"It's their minds that are different," said Harry, beginning to see what she was driving at.  
  
"Precisely, Potter. If you can trap an Animagus in hiding into demonstrating a degree of rationality that doesn't belong to its animal form, you can unmask its true nature."  
  
"I see," said Harry. "Thank you, Professor. May I go now?"   
  
"I suppose so, Potter," sighed Professor McGonagall. "Just don't get into any more trouble than necessary."  
  
"Yes, Professor McGonagall," Harry replied.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Secret Room Number Eight had a massive stone fireplace, and Hermione used her wand to light a small fire in it, enough for the Floo powder to work on. "I asked Serena Wellington about volunteering at Mungo's," she said, "and she told me that candy stripers there are absolutely not allowed to use magic. They're not even supposed to have their wands with them."  
  
"Why not?" asked Ivy, her hand moving to the front of her robes.  
  
"Some of the magic they do at Mungo's is very tricky," said Hermione, "and some of it's dangerous. They need to make sure that different spells don't accidentally collide with each other and cause unpredictable results."  
  
"I'm not leaving my wand behind," said Ivy.   
  
"Neither am I," said Hermione. "We just have to be careful to keep them well-hidden."  
  
"Okay, Neville," said Ron, "what's the name of this tea shop we're going to?"  
  
Neville looked dismayed. "I can't remember!" he exclaimed.  
  
Hermione sighed. "Fortunately this floor plan also includes a map of the immediate neighborhood. This must be it, just across from the main entrance. Bungo's Tea Shop."   
  
Neville's face cleared at once. "Of course that's it. How silly of me to forget."  
  
"Now Harry, you have your Invisibility Cloak?" Ron wanted to know.  
  
"Of course," said Harry. "Safely stowed away. Let's go."  
  
Hermione had brought the Floo powder, and Harry, since he had the cloak, went first. He took a pinch of powder from the bag, threw it into the flames, stepped into them boldly, and announced, "Bungo's Tea Shop!" As soon as he had arrived and stepped out of the fireplace, he took out the cloak, looked around quickly, and pulled it around his shoulders.   
  
Bungo's was a small establishment with just a few round wooden tables and chairs. It was difficult to make out more, because the only light came in through the windows from the street lanterns outside. The room appeared to be empty. Ron arrived next, and Harry shushed him, but said, "I don't think there's anyone here." Ivy, Neville, and Hermione soon appeared, and they all sidled over to the front door as quietly as possible. Hermione found and drew the bolt, and just as she was lifting the latch, a voice from the back of the room said, "Who's there?"  
  
"Nobody," Ron tossed back hastily, and they scuttled out the door.   
  
Harry looked both ways. "This way," he said, leading the way toward a clump of shrubbery at the side of the pavement. "Hide," he whispered, shoving his friends into concealment with invisible hands.   
  
"Ow," muttered Neville as twigs snapped and leaves rustled.   
  
"Ron, you moron, why did you say, 'Nobody'?" hissed Hermione.   
  
"Guess I panicked," he admitted.  
  
Harry watched the door of Bungo's, and sure enough it opened and a bald-headed proprietor appeared, wearing an apron over his robes. He looked up and down the street and muttered, "Must be hearin' things. Thought I bolted the door, but could be I forgot."   
  
The man disappeared inside, but Harry said, "Wait. Don't come out yet." He let two minutes go by, and said, "All right, I think it's safe now. But let's not cross the street right in front of his nose. Keep going this way."  
  
Before long they had come to the main entrance of Mungo's Hospital.   
  
"I've been in this way," said Neville. "It's still visiting hours, but we have to tell them who we're visiting."  
  
"We do if they see us, anyway," said Ivy.  
  
Standing just outside the covered entryway, Hermione lit her wand and consulted the floor plan. "It looks like there's a custodian's closet between the gentlemen's and ladies' toilets just a little way inside the door," she said. "We'll make for that first. Harry, go ahead and tell us when it's clear." Harry made sure he was covered and walked silently toward the double glass doors. His co-conspirators saw one of them open, and a beckoning hand appeared in the air.   
  
"C'mon," said Ron in a low voice, and they followed Harry through the door. "Turn right," whispered Hermione, and in another moment they had crowded into the custodian's closet, leaving the door open just a crack, and bumping into boxes of Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover (Hospital Strength). Neville knocked a broom over and Ivy saved it from clattering on the floor. "Harry?"  
  
"Right here," said a voice outside the closet. "Wait here until I scout out the next lap." In a few minutes they heard him again.   
  
"There's a desk where we're supposed to check in," said Harry, "and a crowd of visitors has just come through. I'll distract the nurse, and you go through the next set of doors. Turn left into the first corridor, and the third door on the left is an empty examining room. I'll meet you there. Now follow me." They tiptoed out of the closet with Harry in the lead, leaving just one finger visible. "Stop," he whispered as they were about to round a corner. "Wait until you hear a crash."  
  
Harry approached the reception counter, where a young nurse was filling out parchment forms with a quill chained to the desk. She had a stack of them next to her on a wooden tray, with a paperweight on the top. When she turned away from it to consult a file, Harry stealthily slid the tray forward so that the end of it stuck out over the edge of the counter, just inches away from her elbow. Harry backed away, and the nurse turned back and knocked the tray over, exactly according to plan. She exclaimed with annoyance and bent to pick up the forms, suspecting nothing out of the ordinary. Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Ivy came round the corner, past the counter, and through the doors while the nurse rustled parchment on the floor, none the wiser. An orderly caught sight of them on the other side, but he was much too busy with his laundry cart to pay them any particular attention. When at last Hermione locked the door to the examining room, they could breathe freely.   
  
Ron hoisted himself onto the examining table and sat with his legs swinging, looking around. The first thing he noticed was a contraption above the table with a transparent panel in a frame, apparently made of glass, at the end of a jointed arm. The angle and location of the glass panel were adjustable. It was clearly a diagnostic tool. Ron situated the window in front of his abdomen and said, "Harry, what can you see through this thing?"   
  
"I can see the front of your robes," said Harry.   
  
"Wait, there's a dial on the side," said Hermione. She twisted it and said, "There's your shirt … now I can see your skin … muscles, ribs, stomach … I can see what you ate for dinner. Ron, that's disgusting. Don't you chew your food at all?"  
  
Ron pushed the window away and said, "I was a little excited tonight."  
  
"That panel must be occultoscopic crystal," said Ivy. "It's not hard to make, but it's strictly regulated because of privacy concerns."  
  
"I see what you mean," said Ron. "Anyone caught carrying that stuff on their person should be immediately taken into custody."  
  
Hermione was peering into some of the drawers in a white cabinet. "I see they have bottles of Clabbert pus here. I'll bet they use it to detect poisoning, the way we did in Defense Against the Dark Arts." Harry was comparing the eye chart on one wall with its reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall, and finding them totally different.  
  
A knock on the door made them all freeze. "Is anyone in here?" asked a voice.  
  
"We'll be out in half a moment," Ivy called back without missing a beat.  
  
"No, it's quite all right. Take your time," the voice called back obligingly. "I'll use one of the other exam rooms."  
  
They all looked at each other with beating hearts. "Either he's mistaken you for someone else," said Ron, "or he thinks someone's having a romantic moment in here and he doesn't want to interrupt."  
  
"Thoughtful of him," said Ivy.  
  
"Um, listen," Neville began diffidently, "maybe we should get back to what we're supposed to be doing here."  
  
"You're right, Neville," said Harry at once.  
  
"Although you can never tell when we might use this information," said Hermione, opening another drawer and finding a mass of leeches, for bloodletting purposes, no doubt.  
  
"We need to get into our disguises," said Ron with relish. "Where do they keep the uniforms?"   
  
"I can tell you that," said Neville. "There's a staff supply closet on the other side of the main corridor. I can show you where."  
  
"Harry, do your stuff," said Ron. Harry pulled his cloak around him and disappeared from view. He opened the door and checked the corridor. "Clear," he said, and the rest of them followed him out. Neville led the way across the main corridor (fortunately they saw no one nearby) and down the opposite branch until they came to a door marked "Staff Attire: Employees Only."  
  
"Well heck, I work here," said Harry. The door was unlocked and they all went in, but to Hermione's consternation she was unable to lock it from the inside.  
  
"Probably so nobody will try to have a romantic moment in here," Ron speculated.  
  
"Harry, you'd better stand outside and be our lookout," Hermione directed. "And we'd all better get ready to hide if someone comes in."  
  
Ivy and Hermione lit their wands. The shelves were piled high with white robes, white aprons, white caps, surgical masks, green surgical robes, surgical gloves, blue robes for ancillary workers, and robes with pink and white stripes (fortunately the pink was a pale and unobtrusive tint) for the young female volunteers. The two girls shed their black Hogwarts robes and started donning their candy-striper garb. Hermione made a face as she put hers on. "No wand pockets in these," she said.  
  
Ron stared at Ivy in disbelief. "Ivy," he said, "you didn't." Ivy had her three-headed, orange-and-black Runespoor wrapped snugly around her waist.   
  
"Obviously I did," she returned coolly, fastening the front of her robe so that the snake could no longer be seen. "Salazara knows she has to behave perfectly when I take her anywhere with me, or she'll be discovered and we'll be separated. I read her a story before dinner, and I brought her because we might need her help."   
  
Ron knew it was too late to argue the point. He regarded the stacks of clothing and decided, "I don't want to be an orderly after all. I think I'll be a medical student." He took a white robe and a white cap. "What about you, Neville?" he asked.   
  
Neville looked around nervously. "I think I'd rather just stay under the cloak with Harry," he said. "If I have to be something I'll be a patient."  
  
Ivy had wound her single black braid around her head (not unlike the snake) and the nurse's cap covered it easily, making her look surprisingly demure. Even though Hermione had tied her hair back, she stuffed it into her cap with some difficulty. She and Ivy looked at Ron speculatively. "You're tall enough, but you still look young for a med student," Ivy criticised. "I know just what you need." She pulled out her wand, pointed it at his face and said, "Barbados!" Ron promptly sprouted a bright-orange, neatly trimmed beard, which lent him an air of immense distinction … or maybe not. Hermione burst into uncontrollable giggles.   
  
Ron put a hand to his face. "Wish I could see how it looks," he said. "It can't possibly be all that funny."  
  
"Trust me, it is," Hermione assured him. "Look, I think we need name tags," she said, taking down a box of parchment rectangles and holders. "There's a quill and ink here so we can fill them out."  
  
"Here, let me," said Ivy. She lettered the names "Iris" and "Hortense" on two tags and handed the second one to Hermione. "It's probably wiser not to use our real names."  
  
"Good thinking," said Ron. Soon he sported a name tag that said "Percy."  
  
The three in disguise emerged cautiously from the closet. They heard a snort of laughter from the air in front of them. "I would never have known you," Harry exclaimed. "Very professional. Where's Neville?"  
  
"He'd rather be with you," said Ron. "You'd better go in and collect him."  
  
While Harry was doing just that, an efficient-looking head nurse in a starched apron and cap emerged from a nearby door and strode along the corridor toward them. She immediately caught sight of Ivy and Hermione and divined their uncertainty.  
  
"Do you young ladies know your assignments?" she asked.  
  
"Yes," said Hermione. "No," said Ivy at the same moment.  
  
Ron quietly melted away, back into the closet, but left the door slightly ajar.   
  
"Well, I just finished mine," Hermione equivocated.  
  
"Well then, you need another one, don't you? Now I want you girls to make up the two beds in Room 107," the woman told them. "The bedclothes are in the linen cupboard at the end of the hall. You do know the proper way to make beds, I hope?"  
  
"Yes, Matron," said Ivy meekly, her eyes wide and guileless.   
  
The woman frowned. "I don't think I recognize either of you. Are you new?"  
  
"I—I'm sorry, Matron," Ivy gulped. "Hortense and I only just started here yesterday and we feel just a bit lost. But I do most dreadfully want to be a nurse one day. It's what I've always dreamed of. I know I have a great deal to learn, but I plan to work very very hard." In the closet, Ron was strangling with laughter and Harry had to pinch him hard to keep him from giving them away.  
  
The matron's face softened. "That's all right, child. That's the kind of attitude we like to see. I'm sure you'll pick things up in a day or two, and then you'll feel right at home. Well then, off you go." She paused. "On second thought, girls, I think I'd like to see your bedmaking technique. A lot of girls who start here have never done it without magic. A well-made bed is the foundation of patient care."  
  
"Oh, I do so agree with you," said Ivy earnestly, shooting a warning glance at Hermione, who looked frustrated. "Actually, I believe I'd feel better if you checked our work, Matron. I want to be sure we're doing it correctly. Let's go and get the sheets, Hortense."  
  
Harry and Neville slipped out of the closet and watched as the two impostors walked briskly to the linen cupboard, hoping to shake their supervisor, but she followed them and called through the door, "Remember to bring two blankets for each bed—a lightweight and a heavy one." The two girls reappeared, each with a set of bed linens and two blankets, and carried them to Room 107. Harry, Neville, and Ron followed them through several turnings, getting more lost with each one, and when they got there Ron parked himself behind the open door in an empty room across the hall. (Room 108, it was.) Hermione started unfolding the sheets and said blankly, "But these sheets are all flat ones, Matron. Don't we want fitted sheets on the bottom?"  
  
"Fitted sheets!" the head nurse exclaimed in shock. "I will thank you to remember that St. Mungo's has always used flat sheets. None of this newfangled Muggle elastic. We pride ourselves on the precision of our hospital corners."   
  
"But …" began Hermione. Ivy elbowed her in the ribs and said, "Of course, Matron." She proceeded to spread a sheet on one of the beds. "Now, we tuck in the ends first, isn't that right, Matron? Hortense, you take the other end."  
  
It took the girls four tries to get the corners on the bottom sheet square enough to suit the Matron. At this rate they would be at it the whole evening, and their instructress seemed to have all the time in the world. Even Ivy was finding it hard to contain her growing twitchiness. They exchanged desperate looks as they opened up the top sheet and spread a lightweight blanket on it under the Matron's eagle eye.  
  
Ron decided to take matters into his own hands. He walked into Room 107, not quite out of breath, but as if he had been searching for several minutes. "Oh, there you are, Matron! Just the person we need. That nurse at the front desk has got the admission records muddled and I think she could use your help."  
  
The Matron looked up and sighed. "Not again? I'd better straighten things out. You girls can carry on from here, can't you?"  
  
"Of course, Matron," said Hermione staunchly. "We know just what to do, now you've showed us."  
  
"Thanks ever so much," added Ivy.  
  
"I'll keep an eye on the bedmaking, dear lady," said Ron, smiling at her like an old friend. "I have a few minutes to spare."  
  
When the head nurse had blessed his heart and bustled off, Ivy said, "Ron, I didn't know you were that good. You could have got carried away and told her the hospital was burning down—but you were perfect. You didn't say a thing that wasn't true."  
  
"It was the beard that did it." Ron stroked it thoughtfully. "Or maybe the name tag. Now if we're going to stay on her good side, we'd better finish with the beds."  
  
Hermione pulled out her wand. "Well, I'm jolly well not going to do it by hand. We don't have time." At her magical bidding the sheets and blankets tucked themselves in and the pillows stuffed themselves in the cases. "There. Now let's find a place where we can plan the next step without being interrupted."  
  
With Harry and Neville scouting ahead, they passed more rooms and found a door marked "Quiet Lounge," with a meeting schedule fastened to it. Harry opened it a crack and peered in. "Empty," he said, and they went in, Hermione locking the door after them. The room was carpeted, paneled, and furnished with armchairs, sofas, and paintings. All of them sat down for a breather, and Harry and Neville emerged from under the cloak.  
  
Ron considered Ivy in her pastel pink-and-white robes. "Funny, I wouldn't have pegged you as the nursing type."  
  
"Nursing? Eughh." Ivy shuddered. "I wouldn't dream of it."  
  
"'Oh Matron, I /dew/ most /dreadfully/ want to be a nurse,'" Ron mimicked. "Laid it on a bit thick, didn't you, /Iris/?"  
  
"But did you see the way she ate it right up, /Percy/?" Ivy countered.  
  
"Too rich," said Harry.  
  
"We'd better figure out where we are," Hermione said, unfolding the floor plan.  
  
"Whatever you say, Hortense," Ron agreed.  
  
"I've got it," she said, pointing to the map. "Here's Room 107 and here's where we are now. Malfoy's office is on the second floor at the back, a long way from here. We'd better take the stairs; the lift is too risky."  
  
"Why hello, dears," said a sweet voice behind them. They turned to find a painting on the wall of a grey-haired woman with spectacles sitting on a sofa. She looked familiar, but Harry couldn't quite remember where he had seen her, until, "You're the one from the painting in Secret Room Number Eight!" exclaimed Hermione.   
  
"Designated for advanced work in Dark Arts Defense Mentality. That's right, dear. I don't spend all my time at Hogwarts. I lead several support groups here at the hospital. In twenty minutes we're going to have a You-Know-Who survivors group. Would you like to join us? It might be just the ticket for you, dear," she said, looking pointedly at Harry's scar.   
  
"Who, me?" asked Harry.  
  
"Um, I think …" Neville began.  
  
"Not," Ron finished.   
  
The woman looked around the room. "I see you didn't bring the teacher who's in denial about his anger. A shame. This group might do him a world of good."  
  
"I wouldn't bet on it," said Ron.  
  
"How do you travel between here and Hogwarts?" Ivy asked.   
  
"Easiest thing in the world, dear. I just go through that door," she pointed behind her to the right of the painting, "walk down the hall, and through the last door on the left, and I'm in my painting at Hogwarts. It's very convenient. My little clinic gives me access to a number of locations, including Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley. Why, I even started a Death Eaters Anonymous group in Knockturn Alley. It's very challenging work."  
  
"I expect it would be," said Harry.   
  
"Madam Nightingale is my name," she went on, "and if you ever need any counseling I hope you'll remember that I'm always available."  
  
"Thanks," said Harry. "Maybe you could answer a question for me."  
  
"Gladly, dear."  
  
"I know St. Mungo's has been around for a long time. Why does it look so much like a Muggle hospital?"  
  
"A modern Muggle hospital," Hermione added. "Except for the fitted sheets. I've been wondering the same thing myself."  
  
"That's a very good question," said Madam Nightingale. "Well, as you probably know, back when St. Mungo's was founded, Muggle medicine was in a deplorable state. Very much hit or miss, and it often did more harm than good. And of course there was no anaesthesia. It's improved a great deal since then, of course, but mostly in the last century. A lot of patients and their families who come here come from a Muggle background, and they feel more secure when they see hospital surroundings like the ones they're used to expecting, instead of something that looks to them like the Dark Ages. It gives them confidence. So St. Mungo's has made a practice of updating its look every twenty years or so."  
  
"Not like Hogwarts," said Hermione.   
  
"No, but then old schools are often thought to be the best," replied Madam Nightingale. "Mind you, some traditionalists frown on all the modern trappings here."  
  
"I think we just met one of them," said Ivy.  
  
"Well, I think we'd better be going," said Ron, edging toward the door.   
  
"Good-bye then, dears," she told them pleasantly. "And thank you for the apples. They were delicious, and I appreciated being thought of."  
  
"The apples," Hermione repeated.   
  
"The ones you left in the mirror."  
  
"Oh yes, those apples," said Ivy. "We're glad you enjoyed them."  
  
"The double-double was especially interesting," Madam Nightingale reflected. "Its flavour made me think of grilled sausages."  
  
Closing the door to the Quiet Lounge, Hermione told Ivy in a low voice, "If anyone asks, we're on our way to make up the beds in Room 223. We'll wait till we get upstairs to pick up the linens."   
  
Now that they knew what they were doing, Ron, Ivy, and Hermione exuded a sense of purpose that helped them blend into the traffic in the corridors. Doctors, nurses, students and aides nodded to them in a friendly way, but didn't stop them or ask any questions. Even the occasional passing centaur accepted their presence as a matter of course. (Hermione had studied a pamphlet on the recent addition of centaurs to the hospital staff as independent consultants, and she explained eagerly about the diplomatic challenges of bringing the centaurs on board, and their important contributions to the healing arts.) They saw a number of candy stripers replacing the candles in the wall brackets that lit the corridor. Harry and Neville stayed close behind their visible companions so as not to cause any collisions. In the empty stairwell (the lifts were vastly preferred) Hermione briefed the rest of them on the route they would take, including detours to pick up and drop off bedding.   
  
Once Ivy and Hermione were carrying armfuls of sheets and blankets, their camouflage was complete. In fact, their faces were nearly hidden. The fact that room 223 was already occupied didn't throw them off stride. They simply found the nearest room with two unmade beds, which turned out to be room 228. The two girls put down their piles of linens, and Hermione said, "Harry, you and Neville go to Malfoy's office. You know how to get there from here. See if you can find out if anyone's in there, and tell us if there's anyone out in the corridor, or anything else we might need to know."   
  
"Okay," said Harry. Suddenly things had grown a degree more serious, now that they were nearing their destination. He and Neville, still under the Invisibility Cloak, left room 228 and went in search of the offices at the back of the hospital. "I feel like I've drunk Panic Potion," whispered Neville beside him, trembling noticeably. "And I think I've forgotten something important, but I can't think what it is."  
  
"Shhh," Harry whispered back. They had reached a corridor with deep carpeting, and the silence was unnerving. It appeared that most of the office staff here had gone home for the day, but Harry and Neville did notice a house-elf emptying wastebaskets. Some of the offices had evidently been left unlocked for that purpose.   
  
They had passed more than half of the doors before they came to one marked "Lucius Malfoy: Advisory Board Member." Lucius Malfoy was the only Advisory Board Member who rated his own office; another four of them shared the next one over. Harry cautiously tried the door, but found it locked, as he had rather expected. He and Neville both put their ears to it, but heard nothing from the other side. "Let's go back," Harry breathed in Neville's ear.   
  
Returning to room 228, they found that Ivy, Ron, and Hermione had been working off their nervous energy by making the beds, hospital corners and all, entirely without magic. "We're getting good at this," said Ron.   
  
"You could be a candy striper too, Ron," Hermione suggested. "Except that the colour of your beard would fight with the robe."  
  
"I'm crushed," sighed Ron.  
  
"We found Mr. Malfoy's office," Harry reported, taking down his hood, "locked, and there doesn't seem to be anyone in it."  
  
"It doesn't seem the sort of place where candy stripers would be assigned," said Neville, also emerging from the Invisibility Cloak.   
  
"We saw a house-elf, though, but it would be hard to disguise ourselves as house-elves."  
  
"House-elves aren't allowed in the parts of the hospital where patients are likely to see them," Hermione told them. "Like candy stripers not being allowed to have their wands. Too much magic around."   
  
"I'll say," Harry agreed. He added, "There's a Gentlemen's just two doors down from Malfoy's office. We could make that our next base."  
  
"I don't suppose it's out of order," said Hermione hopefully.  
  
"No such luck," said Harry. "Someone could pop in on us at any moment. But most of the office people seem to have left for the day."  
  
"We could put an 'out of order' sign on it," Ron proposed. "Then people might think it's like Moaning Myrtle's toilet at Hogwarts."  
  
"Somehow I think that would have the wrong effect," said Harry. "Someone would come in to see what the matter was."  
  
"We might as well stop jawing about it and go," said Ivy.   
  
"Yes, let's get it over with," said Neville. He had started shivering again.   
  
When they got to the office corridor, Harry and Neville found it empty, and the rest of them landed safely in the gentlemen's toilet. Fortunately it was equipped with a wheelchair/ centaur stall big enough to admit all five of them.   
  
"I think we should take off our candy striper robes," said Ivy, beginning to divest herself of hers. "They won't do us any good here."  
  
"You should leave them here, in the Gentlemen's," said Ron. "I'd like to see someone try to explain that. Maybe they'll think that someone was having a romantic—"  
  
"Shut up, Ron," said Harry. He had caught sight of Salazara around Ivy's waist, but he merely raised an eyebrow or two and made no comment. Ivy raised hers back at him.  
  
"We should take them back to Hogwarts with us," Hermione advised, folding up her hospital uniform and stowing it under her Hogwarts robe, which she had just put back on. "We might need them again later. We can return them when we're certain we're finished."  
  
"Someone's coming," said Ivy suddenly. They all fell silent as the door to the Gentlemen's creaked open, hoping that no one would peek under their stall and notice five pairs of feet. Fortunately the anonymous visitor merely used the facilities and left, apparently without discovering their presence. After the door had creaked shut behind him and they dared to breathe again, Ivy said, "Now if there had been two of them, we might have overheard a fragment of conversation that told us something important about our mission."   
  
"I reckon that wasn't in the script," said Ron, who had decided to stay in his medical garb. "Ivy, I think you and Hermione should take Harry's cloak and see if you can get into Ludicrous Malfoy's office—sorry, slip of the tongue. You two are the ones for this job."   
  
"Yes," said Hermione with determination. "Come on, Ivy, let's go." She pulled Harry's cloak on over both of them and they disappeared from view. The door to the stall opened and shut, and then the door to the Gentlemen's. In a few minutes the girls were back.   
  
"We got through the door with a simple unlocking spell," Hermione said, "but inside there's an outer office, for the secretary I suppose, so people won't just barge in on him without making an appointment first."  
  
"I'm sure his time is far too valuable for that," said Harry grimly.  
  
"We noticed a painting on the wall with a man in it," Ivy added, "but he was asleep in his armchair. Hermione put her candy-striper robe over the painting so he won't see anything even if he does wake up."  
  
"Nothing but pink and white stripes, anyway," said Ron.   
  
"It's dark in there, Ron," said Hermione. "And we're going to keep it that way."   
  
"We couldn't open the door to his inner sanctum with the same unlocking spell," coninued Ivy, "so you might as well join us and help us figure it out."  
  
"Right," said Harry. "Let's go."   
  
*******************************  
  
AN: At least 20 witnesses can vouch for the fact that I hit on the idea of painted people traveling between different buildings independently of KJRowling. 


	15. 14 Octavius

AN: Well, thanks for the flame. It gets better.   
  
****************************  
  
Chapter 14. Octavius  
  
With Ivy and Hermione still under the Invisibility Cloak, they entered Lucius Malfoy's outer office without incident. Hermione carefully closed the door behind them, and Harry lit his wand just enough so they could see where they were—a small room with a reception desk and chair, two other chairs for people to sit on while they waited, another door at the back, and the aforementioned painting with a light-coloured robe draped crookedly over the frame. Behind the robe they could hear the snores of the man in the armchair, reminding them that they were not alone. Now Harry, too, felt the way he had after taking a draught of Panic Potion. The darkness and the need for silence made it even worse.   
  
"I'm going to look at the appointment book," whispered Hermione. "Maybe we can learn something from it." She lit her own wand, sat down behind the desk, and pulled a heavy ledger toward her.   
  
"Open it slowly," cautioned Ivy. "Any of these things could be booby-trapped."  
  
Hermione nodded and lifted the cover inch by inch. The book didn't scream like the ones in the Restricted section of the Hogwarts library, but Hermione still turned the pages gingerly, with one eye on the robe-shrouded painting. "Lucius Malfoy has no office hours here on Thursdays," she reported with some relief, "so he's probably not anywhere about."  
  
"I wish that made me feel better," muttered Ron, glancing behind him.   
  
Hermione continued to turn pages with increasing interest. "This book goes back a couple of years," she noted, holding her wand closer for a better look. "'B. Crouch,'" she read. "Mr. Crouch must have come to see Mr. Malfoy here two years ago." Hermione sat back thoughtfully, letting her wand touch the page, then straightened with a start. "Did you hear that?"   
  
"I heard a voice," said Neville tremulously.  
  
"It came from the book," Hermione declared. The rest of them came nearer. Very lightly, she drew her wand down the column of names recorded on the page. Each inscription glowed briefly as the wand reached it, most lighting up only dimly, but a few of them flaring brilliantly when touched. At the same time, a host of whispering voices came to their ears. Hermione lifted her wand and said tensely, "I think this book was supposed to be locked away, not left lying on the desk. The secretary must have been careless."   
  
"Crouch's name was the brightest," Ron observed. "Let's see it again."  
  
Hermione touched the name with her wand again, and it glittered in the darkness of the room as if written in letters of fire. The elder Bartemius Crouch's voice, low and intense, spoke from the page: "Believe me, Lucius, I will not forgive this easily. My hands are tied now, but when they are free you will be held accountable. You had best be prepared."   
  
The five of them looked at each other, wide-eyed.   
  
"I'll bet it's something about framing Crouch's son," said Harry.   
  
Ron touched one of the other names with his wand, but nothing happened. "Maybe it only works when your wand is lit," Ivy suggested.   
  
"I wish we could take this book back with us," said Hermione.   
  
"Talk about raising suspicions," said Ron, shaking his head.   
  
"We could learn so much," said Hermione regretfully.   
  
"Let's try to learn one more thing before we move on," said Harry. He came around the desk and turned to the current page in the ledger. "Has Dr. Leech been to see him lately? … Ah. Just last week." Harry touched Leech's name with the glowing tip of his wand, and it shone clearly. Leech's voice said, "I will thank you to remember, Lucius, that your expertise in this case is not medical. I don't share your view as to the best way to proceed with the Longbottoms, and I must ask you to consult me before taking any further action concerning them."  
  
"Unbelievable," said Ron. "Are all these names that incriminating?"  
  
Ivy tapped the book reflectively. "Perhaps Lucius Malfoy doesn't know what this book can do. He may not bother with it at all; he probably leaves it all to his secretary. And the secretary may have left it out on purpose after all."  
  
"Who is his secretary, I wonder?" said Harry.   
  
"Not Dobby, that's for sure," said Hermione. "Ivy, do you have any idea?"  
  
Ivy shook her head. "No, Draco's never mentioned a secretary."  
  
"Probably nobody we know, anyway," Ron dismissed the question. "What about getting into the inner office?"  
  
Hermione got up from the desk. "Alohomora!" she said, brandishing her wand at the door. Nothing appeared to happen, but she tried the knob anyway, without success. "There's a keyhole," she said, "but Mr. Malfoy probably has the only key."  
  
"Maybe there's a password," said Ron.   
  
"This is where Salazara comes in useful," Ivy said. She unfastened her robes and began to unwind the snake from around her waist. "Yes, it's all right, Zara, you can come out now. You've behaved very well, and now we need your help." The Runespoor slid over Ivy's arms and shoulders, hissing softly. "We need to open this door, dear. Can you help us find out how?" Harry heard Ivy ask her in Parseltongue. Salazara glided to the floor and paused with her three heads up, facing the door.   
  
"/You must reach deep in to find what you seek/," the serpent's middle head whispered. The left head added, "/In this room there is an object which will serve as a key./" Harry translated for Neville, Ron, and Hermione.  
  
Ron started opening the desk drawers and rummaging through them. He produced crumpled parchment, old quills, ink bottles, candle ends, dead mice (to feed post owls with), and stale sandwich halves, and dumped them on the desktop.  
  
"Stop, Ron," said Ivy. "Salazara may tell us more if we ask her." She addressed the snake again. "Is this object among the contents of the desk?"   
  
"/No,/" replied the left head, and Harry translated both question and answer.  
  
"Oh," said Ron, and swept the clutter back into the top left-hand drawer, accidentally creating a couple of mouse sandwiches in the process. "Can't she just tell us what it is?"  
  
"That's not Salazara's way," said Ivy loftily.   
  
"I suppose we have to play ruddy Twenty Questions with her," griped Ron.  
  
"That's what she likes best, don't you, darling?" said Ivy.  
  
"All right," said Hermione. "Is the object in plain sight?" Salazara shook her left head no. "Under the carpet?" Another head shake. "Does it look like a key?" No again. "Is it a magical object?" This time the Runespoor nodded her left head yes.  
  
"Was the object already in this room before we came in?" asked Neville. This time Salazara shook her middle head no.   
  
Harry almost whistled, but stopped himself just in time. "Jolly good show, Neville," he applauded. He asked Salazara in Parseltongue, "Am I carrying the object?" and her middle head answered, "/Yes./"  
  
"Is it Harry's wand?" asked Ivy, and all three heads answered in unison, "That is correct."  
  
Harry took out his wand and looked at it, translating Ivy's and Salazara's words into English. "Would that be because of the scar?" Harry wondered, but Salazara wasn't giving any more hints. Harry inserted the tip of his wand in the keyhole, and immediately felt a vibration travel up his arm and throb in the scar on his forehead. Twisting the wand, he felt the click as the lock gave, then turned the knob and pushed the door open on thick darkness. He withdrew his wand, lit it, and took a few steps into the room, the others following stealthily behind. Hermione brushed by him and used her wand to light a three-branched candlestick sitting on a table.  
  
Harry had been half-expecting something vaguely like the inside of Borgin and Burkes, the shop on Knockturn Alley he had once visited somewhat by accident. That had been full of creepy artifacts like instruments of torture, severed hands, and other isolated body parts, and Harry had seen Lucius Malfoy pay a call there to sell some of his own magical contraband. Later Harry and Ron, disguised by means of Polyjuice Potion, had heard Draco mention the secret chamber under the Malfoy drawing room where his father kept the rest of his collection safe from raids by the Ministry of Magic. Although he knew that Lucius Malfoy took pains to keep up a respectable front, Harry would not have been surprised to see a pickled heart in a jar on the desk, or perhaps a hunting trophy on the wall—something intimidating like the head of a Re'em or Nundu, two of the most dangerous magical beasts known to wizards.   
  
But, although they could point to nothing particularly ominous in it, Lucius's private office was far more luxurious than his reception room, with an exceptionally fine Persian carpet on the floor, heavy drapes at the windows, and a desk, tables, and bookshelves of dark polished wood whose lustrous blue-violet hue could only belong to the rare and valuable skywood tree. "Don't touch the wood with your bare hands," Hermione warned, "or it will reflect your face for the next twenty-four hours." Witches and wizards liked to keep valuables and secret documents in boxes and cupboards made of skywood; but a whole suite of skywood office furniture represented extravagance almost beyond belief.  
  
Harry noticed gratefully that the two paintings adorning the walls were still lifes (at least at the moment), free of inconveniently sentient beings. Looking more closely at them, he found that one depicted an innocent-looking bowl of fruit next to a human skull; another showed shelves of incomprehensible devices and books with strange characters on the spines. One of the shelves in the painting was empty, and it gave Harry an odd feeling. Maybe there was something sinister here after all.  
  
Ron dropped to his knees and examined the carpet closely by wandlight. "I wouldn't be surprised if this were a flying carpet," he said. "I bet Dad could tell for sure, just by looking at it. It's illegal to own one, you know."  
  
Neville suddenly froze in the middle of the room, looking horrified. "Oh, no!" he exclaimed. "I remember now—I was supposed tell Professor Dumbledore any plans we made about Mr. Malfoy. I should have given him a message this afternoon, but I forgot."  
  
"You're right," said Harry. "Slipped my mind too."   
  
"We have to go back," said Neville frantically.  
  
"Neville, you can't get cold feet now we've come this far," scolded Hermione.  
  
"But I promised," Neville pleaded.   
  
"Neville, it's too late," Hermione insisted. "I'm sorry, but you'll have to wait until we've done what we came for. He shouldn't have counted on you to remember a thing like that, anyway."   
  
"Hush," Ivy warned. "We don't want to be overheard. Neville, don't worry about it. You didn't deliberately keep anything from Professor Dumbledore. He has ways of finding out what he needs to know."  
  
Neville pulled himself together. "You're right, Ivy," he said. "I'm sorry. I'll be all right now."  
  
"Now that we're here," said Ron, "what are we looking for?"  
  
"This was your idea," retorted Hermione. "What are you looking for?"  
  
"I'm looking for bottles labeled 'Potion to keep the Longbottoms from getting better,' Ron shot back.   
  
"Might as well shoot for the stars," Harry remarked, taking down books at random and looking inside them for secret compartments.   
  
"I still think we should take the appointment book," Hermione persisted.   
  
"Well, bring it in here and look at it some more, if you like," suggested Ivy.   
  
"I think I will," said Hermione, and went to get it. Returning and sitting down at Mr. Malfoy's desk, she tried the drawers, touching only the brass handles, and found them all locked. "Somehow I don't think Lucius Malfoy would keep his most secret possessions in his desk drawers," she reasoned. "Too obvious."  
  
"Maybe Salazara can help us again," said Ron hopefully. The Runespoor gave him a baleful six-eyed look from the hat tree where she had twined herself.  
  
"She already has, Ron," Ivy reminded him. "She said, 'You must reach deep in to find what you seek.'"  
  
"Oh, well, if you call that help," sniffed Ron.  
  
"I do. Salazara never makes empty conversation."  
  
Hermione had started listening to the names listed in the appointment book, most of which she didn't recognize, and most of which were not individually very informative: they merely said things like, "/Very well, Lucius/," "/I'll get right on it, Lucius,/" "/I'll do whatever's necessary,/" "/It's a pleasure doing business with you, sir,/" "/I assure you, there will be absolutely no trouble on that account,/" "/It's lucky you caught that before it went any further,/" and "/Thank you for smoothing that over, Lucius, and if there's anything I can do in the future …/" Actually, taken together they suggested a rather shady picture.  
  
A tapping at one of the windows made Neville drop the book he was holding. Harry moved hesitantly toward the sound and opened the drapes just a crack. "It's Hedwig," he exclaimed, and opened the window for his snowy owl. "With a message from Sirius," he added as he removed the letter tied to her leg. Ron went to get a mouse for Hedwig from the reception desk, choosing the freshest one he could find. "Hope nobody's counting these things," he muttered. He offered it to her by the tail and she took it eagerly, swallowed it whole, and thanked him with a friendly hoot. Harry stroked her feathers and opened the letter.  
  
/Dear Harry,  
  
Sorry I didn't get back to you sooner. I don't remember all that much, but I do recall that they did things with mirrors. They made one rat with two heads and no tail and one with two tails and no head (neither of them lived very long), as well as some other peculiar combinations which were somewhat more viable. Hope this helps.  
  
As ever,   
  
Sirius/  
  
"Mirrors again," said Hermione, looking up from the appointment book. "I wouldn't be surprised if Lucius hid something in a mirror." All of them looked around, but no mirror hung on any of the walls. Ivy examined a glass-fronted cabinet filled with ornamental potion bottles and goblets, but found no mirror in it.  
  
"Wait," said Neville, "let's send Hedwig back with a message for Professor Dumbledore. I'll write it myself." He went to the reception desk and produced the following rather blotted note: /Dear Prof D, We are in LM's office because we thought we might find something and we are fine so far. It is very nice here. Sincerely, NL./   
  
"You forgot to add /wish you were here,/" said Ron. Harry folded the note and tied it onto Hedwig's leg, then opened the window for her again and watched her disappear into the night.  
  
"That looks a bit like a wardrobe," said Hermione, pointing to a tall cupboard between the two windows. "The doors might have mirrors on the inside." Naturally the doors were locked, but after Hermione failed to open them, Harry tried his wand in the keyhole (ouch) and it worked like a charm (which of course it was). The cupboard was in fact a wardrobe, with a cloak, a robe, and a suit hanging on the rail. Just to be thorough, Ron rifled through all the pockets, finding several gold Galleons and silver Sickles. "Hush money, if you ask me," he judged, weighing them in his hands. At a stern look from Hermione he replaced them all, but not without a sigh of regret.   
  
The insides of both wardrobe doors were most satisfactorily mirrored, and best of all, each swung freely through an arc of well over half a circle, so that every part of the room could be reflected. "Remember not to touch the wood," admonished Ivy. "Look for anything in the mirror that's not in the actual room." Hermione lit more candles, and all of them took turns comparing reality and reflection, but everything seemed to correspond perfectly. "Let's go through the room again," said Ivy. "We may have missed something."  
  
They had almost finished a second inventory when Harry said, "I've got it." He pointed into the mirror he was using for his search.   
  
"Really, Harry?" said Hermione. "Let me see." She took his place and looked in the glass. After a good two minutes of matching real objects with their counterparts in the mirror, she said, "I give up. What did you see, Harry?"  
  
"Look at the painting," he told her. "The real painting has an empty shelf. But in the reflection …"  
  
"I see it," gasped Ron. "There's a wooden chest. It must be what we're looking for. How do we get it out?"  
  
"It's a two-step process," Hermione instructed. "I read about it in Madcap Magic. First we have to get it out of the reflected painting into the reflected room. Once we've done that, the rest is routine. If I were to point my wand at the chest right now and say, '/Carpe Veritatem,/' nothing would happen."  
  
"You need a different spell?" tried Neville.  
  
"Yes, but more than that," Hermione continued. "My reflection has to get it out of the reflected painting." She pointed her wand at the empty shelf in the real painting, and the mirror-Hermione's wand pointed directly at the chest. "One of you watch my reflection while I do it, to see whether it works."   
  
"Wait," said Ivy. "Look at the colour. It's made of skywood. We have to be careful."  
  
"I know just the thing," said Ron. He reached into a pocket of the cloak hanging in the wardrobe and brought out a pair of leather gloves, which he presented to Hermione with a flourish. "Compliments of Lucius Malfoy."  
  
"Perfect," said Hermione. "Why don't you put them on, Ron, and stand right in front of the painting, so your reflection can catch the chest when it pops out."  
  
"Yes, like that," said Ivy, when Ron did so, "but hold your hands a little closer together. " She checked his reflection against the size of the chest. "That looks about right."  
  
"Ready?" asked Hermione, and pointed her wand at the empty shelf again. Ron nodded. "Vide Veritatem!" she chanted.   
  
"Put one hand underneath, Ron. Don't drop it," Ivy coached. "You've got it now."  
  
"I can't feel a thing," Ron complained.  
  
"Turn around slowly and look at yourself in the mirror," Ivy directed. When he did as she suggested, he was able to shift his hands to give his reflection a more secure grip on the chest. Still watching himself, he sidled over and mimed placing the chest on the desk. "Done," he said when the chest in the mirror was safely landed. He rubbed his gloved hands together.   
  
"That was the strangest thing I ever saw," said Neville.  
  
"Now to get it out of the mirror," said Hermione. "Get ready, Ron. /Carpe Veritatem!/" Ron caught the chest as it exited the mirror and this time actually placed it on the desk. "It's heavy," he observed. "Who wants to bet on what's in it?"  
  
"I'd rather just find out what's in it," said Ivy, examining it closely, but taking care not to touch it. It was a brass-bound wooden box, about the size of a suitcase, that apparently opened with a key. The rest of them gathered round, anticipating the next moment of revelation.  
  
"Look out!" Harry exclaimed suddenly. "Someone's in the other painting!"  
  
Neville turned his head and got the shock of his life (which is saying a good deal, considering what he'd been through lately). In the Still Life with Fruit Bowl and Skull he saw a familiar-looking figure that hadn't been there five minutes ago. "S-snape?!?" he choked in disbelief.   
  
"Indeed," said the black-haired man in the painting, with a hint of amusement. "And what might so many students be up to in a private office that doesn't belong to them?"  
  
"Professor … Snape … ?" Hermione faltered in growing puzzlement.  
  
But it wasn't Professor Snape.   
  
"Father!" Ivy cried. "Oh, I'm so glad to see you!"  
  
"And I to see you, daughter," he told her with a smile that made his face look quite different from Professor Snape's.   
  
"This is my father, Octavius Snape," Ivy introduced him to her fellow students, "Professor Snape's older brother. Father, I'd like you to meet Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Neville Longbottom, all fifth-years from Gryffindor."   
  
"But … I thought you would be a real person, sir," Hermione blurted, too surprised to choose her words.   
  
"And so I am, Miss Granger," he told her.  
  
"Oh, Father's quite real," Ivy explained, "but he can go in and out of paintings whenever he chooses. It's an extremely rare ability; certain gifted Slytherins can develop it with long practice. I might see if I can do it myself some day."  
  
"Cool," said Ron.  
  
"My dear Ivy," Octavius addressed his daughter, "I hope you can tell me what you and your schoolmates are doing here, and Salazara too. When Professor Dumbledore received Mr. Potter's owl he sent me to find out the status of your mission. You are taking a great risk."  
  
"We know," said Harry.  
  
"You, of course, are no stranger to risk, Mr. Potter," said Octavius.  
  
"Well, no, not exactly," said Harry.  
  
"We're just breaking rules in obedience to a higher law, sir," Neville informed him almost cheekily. The oddity of finding a kinder, gentler Snape—in a painting, no less—seemed to have affected his brain.  
  
"Oh, well in that case, you'd best carry on," said Octavius. "You are Frank and Aurelle Longbottom's son, are you not?"   
  
"Yes, sir," said Neville. "We're here to help them."  
  
"From what I understand, you already have," said Octavius.  
  
"Well, Harry's done most of it," said Neville.   
  
"With a lot of help from Neville," Harry put in.   
  
"All of us are a team," added Ron.   
  
"Right now, we're trying to get to the bottom of the problem," said Hermione.  
  
"And you have reason to suspect Lucius Malfoy?" Octavius inquired.  
  
"We certainly do," said Hermione hotly. "He just got back from holiday last week and Neville's Gran mentioned how strangely he's been acting. And you should hear his appointment book. It's an absolute disgrace. We're looking for evidence."  
  
"I see," said Octavius. "May I ask what your part in all this has been, Ivy? Or would I rather not know?"   
  
"Deception, stealing, spying and eavesdropping, Father," said Ivy. "Breaking and entering. Just the usual."  
  
"Seriously, Ivy?"  
  
"I'm afraid so," said Ivy in a small voice. "You've caught me in the act."  
  
"Well, I like that!" said Ron indignantly. "This trip was my idea. Ivy always wants all the blame for herself," he grumbled to Octavius. "And she has the nerve to give Harry a hard time for playing the hero. But if she's going to play the villain, what else can he do?"  
  
Octavius looked at his daughter with raised eyebrows. "'Play the villain'?"  
  
"It—it's a long story, Father," Ivy stammered, but she met his gaze squarely.   
  
"I'm sure it is, and I look forward to hearing it some day. I'm still not quite certain that I should have allowed you to bring Salazara to school," mused Octavius.  
  
"I am, sir," said Neville loyally. "Salazara's been ever so helpful."  
  
"I'm glad to hear it," said Octavius. "Perhaps it was for the best, after all. I felt a very strong intimation that it was the right thing to do."  
  
"You won't regret it, Father," said Ivy.  
  
"And now perhaps I should leave you to it," said Octavius. "But I won't be far away. Remember that you are in danger here, every one of you."  
  
"We're trying to be careful, Mr. Snape," Neville assured him. "We're not touching any of the wood."  
  
"Very commendable," said Octavius. "Like the motorbike rider who makes sure his helmet is on properly before he jumps the canyon. Good luck to you all."  
  
"Good-bye, Father," said Ivy. He moved out of the frame of the painting and was gone.   
  
"Seems like a good sort," said Ron, looking after him. "For a Slytherin."  
  
"Yes, Father's pretty decent about not pressing too hard for details or backing people into corners," said Ivy.   
  
They turned back to the chest, where Octavius Snape had interrupted them at a most interesting moment. Harry tried his wand in the keyhole with a fair degree of confidence, but this time there was no resulting vibration and no pain in his scar, and the chest refused to open. He shook his head. "It's not working."  
  
"We shouldn't have let Ivy's father leave in such a hurry," said Neville. "We could use his advice right about now."  
  
"Now what?" wondered Ron. "Maybe we have to find the key. Harry, see if you can open these desk drawers." Harry used his wand successfully this time, being careful not to touch the wood. "I'll look through them," said Ron, wiggling his gloved fingers, "and the rest of you can search the room for it. Or maybe it's in the mirror, too."  
  
"Hoping to find more mice and sandwiches?" Harry asked.  
  
"I am getting a little hungry," Ron admitted. "Wish I'd brought some Chocolate Frogs. Look, there is some chocolate in here! You don't suppose …" But Harry shook his head and Hermione drew her finger across her throat in a slashing motion.   
  
Ivy said, "Ron, I don't think we'll find what you're looking for. Lucius Malfoy would keep a key that important with him at all times." She went over to Salazara, still wound around the hat tree, and the Runespoor's middle head told her, "The answer is still the same."  
  
Ivy repeated in English, "The answer is still the same: You must reach deep in to find what you seek. In this room there is an object that will serve as a key. Is it Harry's wand? That is correct." Salazara nodded her left head in confirmation.   
  
Harry tried his wand in the keyhole of the chest a second time. Again, nothing happened. Silence fell as all of them set their wits to work on the problem. Hermione, with her eyes resting thoughtfully on the chest, suddenly exclaimed, "The chest came out of the mirror. It could be a mirror-double."  
  
Ron checked in the mirror of the wardrobe. "It still has no reflection."  
  
"Either way," said Hermione, "its counterpart was probably hidden in the reflected painting by someone painted. It works the same way whether or not you switch the real object with its reflection to begin with."  
  
Suddenly Harry knew what was coming. Ivy looked him in the eye and said, "Harry, are you ready to risk your wand again?"   
  
"Of course," said Harry. "At least you're giving me a choice this time."  
  
Ivy reddened slightly and bit her lip. "I did say I was sorry about stealing your wand and all the rest of it."  
  
"I know, and it's okay, Ivy," said Harry. "I didn't mean to rub it in."   
  
"What we're going to do now won't be nearly as dangerous," she assured him, "at least as far as I know." She took out her candy-striper robe, spread it over a small round table, and moved the table nearer the wardrobe. Harry laid his wand down, not without some misgivings. He could see the three breaks in the reflected wand where Draco Malfoy had snapped it. Ivy pointed her wand at it and said, "/Carpe Veritatem!/" As soon as the double came through the mirror it separated into its component pieces, and Ivy deftly caught them all. She laid them end to end next to Harry's real wand, then sent the real wand into the mirror with the word, "Fallax!"  
  
Examining the result, Ivy said, "There. That should work. You can pick it up, Harry." As he did so he watched his reflection pick up the real wand. He ran his hand over the breaks in the mirror-double; he could see them and feel them, but the wand stayed in one piece.   
  
"Be careful not to break the double while you're using it," advised Hermione. "Whatever happens to it will happen to your real wand while it's in the mirror."  
  
"The old switcheroo," said Ron in admiration.  
  
"I can never keep this mirror stuff straight," sighed Neville.  
  
Harry approached the chest again, hoping that this attempt would succeed. He braced himself before placing his wand double in the keyhole, yet the fierce sting in his scar still took him by surprise. He rubbed his head and said, "I feel like we're playing 'Hot and Cold,' and now we're getting really hot." He twisted the wand and the chest sprang open. Ron, still wearing gloves, pulled back the lid, and all of them stared at the contents. Four smaller boxes fit snugly into the chest, three of them with labels; one of the names none of them recognized, but the other two labels read "Longbottom" and "Crouch." Ron lifted the Longbottom box out of the chest, his hands shaking with excitement. He removed the lid, disclosing a layer of silk fabric; under this, when he had unfolded it, several rows of potion bottles met their eyes.  
  
"Gor blimey," said Ron. "What did I tell you."  
  
"How about that," said Neville.  
  
"I can't believe it," said Hermione.  
  
"Hot stuff," said Harry.   
  
"Extraordinary," said Ivy. She started lifting the bottles out, one by one, reading the labels as she lined them up on the desk. There were several of each. "'Remedy for A. L.' 'Sleeping draught for A. L.' 'Antidote for A. L.' 'Remedy for F. L.'   
  
"So he has been dosing them on the sly," said Ron.  
  
"But for how long?" asked Hermione.  
  
"These labels look newer than the others," said Ivy, turning the "Antidote" and "Sleeping Draught" bottles.   
  
"My Mum's been unconscious for about three months now," said Neville.   
  
"Because Lucius put her to sleep, of course," said Ron.   
  
"Do you have any idea why he might have chosen that particular time to do it, Neville?" asked Hermione.  
  
"No, not really," said Neville. "Except—before it happened they were saying she was showing signs of getting better."  
  
"My guess would be that she was starting to figure out what was going on," said Harry.  
  
"Kiss of death for anyone involved with Lucius Malfoy," said Ron solemnly. "If he can't buy them off or blackmail them, the next best bet is the sleeping-potion gambit."  
  
Ivy examined the bottles again. "It looks like the sleeping draught and the antidote go together. Why would he put her to sleep and then wake her up again?"  
  
"That's not so hard to guess," Harry said. "He'd wake her up long enough to threaten her, then put her back to sleep. He'd behave so outrageously that if she did tell anyone else, they would assume she was raving."  
  
"We all know what we have to do now," said Hermione. "We have to wake up Neville's Mum and talk to her."  
  
"Could we really?" Neville looked terrified and eager at the same time.  
  
"It's the obvious next step," said Ivy, "but let's not rush into it. Maybe we should see if we can tell whether the potion is poisonous first."  
  
"I picked up a bottle of Clabbert pus in the examining room," said Hermione. "I thought it might come in handy." From her robes she took a small bottle, unstoppered it, and tilted a drop from it into the potion bottle Ivy held open for her. After putting the bottle away, she took out her wand, pointed it at the antidote and said, "Venomonstrate!" No blinking red light appeared. "While we're at it," she said, "let's try the others." When treated with Clabbert pus, the sleeping draught showed a yellow beacon, meaning it could be dangerous if used without due caution; the other two kinds of potion flashed red to indicate outright poison. "Remedies my foot," muttered Hermione.  
  
"We might learn more if we opened the other boxes," said Ron. "Let's try 'Crouch' first." He lifted it out of the chest. It also contained potion bottles, but none of them were labeled, and some were empty. Hermione tested one of the full bottles and found it to be poisonous.  
  
"It looks like he was getting the Malfoy treatment," she said, stoppering the potion bottle and replacing it in the box. "Probably after he confronted Malfoy about his son."  
  
Ron took the unlabeled box out of the chest and put it down on the desk. "Wonder what's in here? Probably extra potion ingredients." He raised the lid.   
  
The head of a small, gold-and-emerald snake darted from the box and struck Ron's gloved hand. Fortunately the gloves were made of a hide the snake's fangs couldn't penetrate. Ron tried to slam the lid back down, but it was too late; he managed to grasp the snake behind its head and hold it, while it twisted furiously and whipped its tail in the effort to escape. Ivy moved the potion bottles out of harm's way. "Harry—Ivy—help!" cried Ron, holding on for dear life.  
  
"Don't let go, Ron," Harry urged. "Hold onto it. Let me talk to it. /Are you the guardian of this chest?/" he asked in Parseltongue.  
  
"/But of course. Think you're clever, don't you,/" hissed the snake.   
  
"/Yes,/" said Harry. "/We are extremely clever, O guardian of the chest./"  
  
"/Thought you could outwit every secret device that stood in your way,/" rasped the snake.  
  
"/Yes,/" said Harry. "/That is why we came. Our presence here is fated./"  
  
"/How am I to know this?/" asked the snake. It was growing calmer.  
  
Harry held up his wand-double. "/I have the Key./"  
  
The snake looked closely at the wand, with its seams and tiny lightning-bolt scar. "/You have the Key,/" it conceded, but then insisted, "/You must prove that you are its rightful owner./"  
  
"/I am its rightful owner,/" said Harry, pushing back his black bangs to reveal his own scar, which the snake also examined.  
  
"/You are its rightful owner,/" admitted the snake, but with seeming reluctance. Although Ron, Hermione, and Neville didn't understand the words, they had little difficulty following the gist of the conversation.  
  
Salazara came down from the hat tree, slithered across the floor, and glided up to the desktop. She stared down the other snake with all three of her heads. "/Harry Potter has the Key,/" "/Harry Potter is its rightful owner,/" "Harry Potter opens the secret chest by right,/" they all said in turn.  
  
Ron still held the snake, but it no longer struggled. Now Ivy spoke to it. "/How do you live in that box without food or air?/"  
  
And it answered, "/I am a painted snake; I only exist when I am seen or sensed./"  
  
Ivy studied the snake for a long moment and then exclaimed, "/Why, you are painted!/ Look, everyone," she said, switching to English, "This is a painted snake—a snake from a painting. It says it's only real when someone sees or senses it."  
  
"It feels quite real to me," said Ron.   
  
"Right now it is," said Ivy. She continued questioning the snake, "/And does your venom cause delusions/?"  
  
"/Yes,/" answered the snake. "/Those whom I bite are incapable of distinguishing reality from fantasy./"  
  
"Ron, you were right," said Harry. "There were extra potion ingredients in that box. This snake's bite causes delusions." He addressed the snake. "/You have fulfilled your task of guarding the chest. It's time to get back in the box./"   
  
"/But I'd rather be real for a while,/" objected the snake. "/It's so tiresome not to exist. You have no idea./"  
  
Ivy removed her candy-striper robe from the small table where she had left it. She spread it over Ron's arm, the snake, and the boxes and bottles from the chest. A little hissing voice from underneath said plaintively, "/I promise to behave if you let me stay./"  
  
Ivy said, "Ron, let go now."  
  
Ron looked dubious, but he pinned the snake with his free hand on top of the robe, then opened his other hand and quickly removed it from behind the snake's head. Ivy stretched the robe flat between her hands. Ron looked at it suspiciously, then sarted to peek under it to see if the snake was still there.   
  
"No, don't peek yet," said Ivy. "Reach under the robe with the box and trap the snake with it first." He turned the box upside down and clapped it down on the desktop, hoping he had caught the snake that wasn't there, and then looked under the robe.  
  
"I don't see it," he reported, and Ivy removed the robe. Hermione handed Ron a sheet of paper. He slid it carefully under the box, and held the paper in place with his thumbs as he turned the box right side up. Finally he placed the lid over the paper, removed the paper, and closed the lid.  
  
"Now look to see if the snake's in there," said Hermione.  
  
Ron opened the box a crack and said "Yes, I see it. I can hear it, too. Nighty-night, snake. Sleep tight." He shut the lid again, then sat down weakly and wiped his forehead with his arm. "That was close. Let's not open the other box."   
  
Hermione looked thoughtfully at the clutter on the desk. "We'd better not take any of these bottles with us. Let's just take some potion from a few of the antidote bottles." She went to the glass-fronted cabinet and opened it with a simple "Alohomora!" She then chose one of the less noticeable bottles from it and filled it half full of Aurelle's antidote. She took a small goblet too, and gave both to Neville for safekeeping. He put them away carefully, then patted his robes to make sure they would stay in place.  
  
"Before we go, we have to put everything back the way it was," said Ivy. "We'd better not forget anything." So the potion bottles were all carefully returned to their boxes, which went back into the chest; Harry locked the chest and Ivy switched his wand back; Hermione sent the chest back into the mirror and the painting in one convenient step ("Fallax et perfallax"); Ron returned the gloves to the cloak in the wardrobe before Harry locked it up; Ivy moved the small round table back to its original location, refolded her candy-striper uniform before tucking it back into her Hogwarts robes, and collected Salazara; Harry locked Lucius' desk; Neville put out the candles; Hermione returned the appointment book to the reception desk; they all left Lucius' inner office and Harry relocked the door.  
  
"Dunno how much good all this covering our tracks will do," said Ron. "Next time Lucius opens the chest, that snake will spill everything."  
  
"Can't be helped," shrugged Harry. Then he asked, "Is Lucius Malfoy a Parselmouth?"  
  
"Probably not," said Ivy. "It's a very unusual trait, you know."  
  
"I just happen to know two of them," said Ron, rolling his eyes.  
  
Hermione shushed them warningly, then slowly and stealthily removed her candy-striper robe from the picture frame on the painting in the outer office. The man in the armchair opened one eye. "Good luck to you all," he told them pleasantly. "High time all these shenanigans were stopped." The five Hogwarts students stared at him in astonished silence. He was round and portly, with a bushy moustache.  
  
"I thought you were here to guard the office," Hermione finally said.  
  
"Indeed I am," he told them, "but I've been told to stop only people who shouldn't be here. Octavius explained a wee bit when he came through."  
  
"Oh, he did, did he," said Ivy.   
  
"And I've always been a fan of Harry Potter," the man went on, his eyes moving to Harry. "Such amazing feats of daring. It's an honor to meet you, sir."  
  
"Er, thanks," said Harry in confusion.  
  
"Well, I don't mean to keep you," he dismissed them. "Just want you to know I'm pulling for you." He winked at them and closed his eyes again.   
  
Before they left the outer office, Hermione and Ivy turned into candy stripers again, and Harry and Neville resumed the Invisibility Cloak. Out in the corridor, Ivy stopped suddenly, looking at a smallish painting of a vase of flowers that hung on the wall. "Could you carry a painting that size under your cloak, Harry?" she asked.   
  
"Sure," said Harry, "but what … oh, I get it." Ivy looked up and down the corridor and carefully lifted the painting down. Harry put his hand out for it and tugged it out of sight. "Somehow I never pictured us as art thieves."  
  
"We're just borrowing it, Harry," said Ivy impatiently. "We're not even taking it out of hospital." 


	16. 15 A Turn for the Understudy

AN: Yes, Neville gets a turn to put his learning to good use.  
  
Chapter 15. A Turn for the Understudy  
  
Once they had returned to the main part of the hospital, Neville, after thinking awhile and asking for Hermione's help with the floor plan, was able to direct them to his mother's room in the mental wing. On the way, they detoured to an examining room at Ron's request. "There's something I need to get," he said, but he didn't tell them what it was. He was in and out in just a minute, and he reappeared empty-handed. "All set," he said with satisfaction.   
  
When they arrived at Aurelle Longbottom's room, the door was unlocked, and Harry opened it a crack and peered in. "There's a nurse on duty," he whispered to the others.  
  
"We'd better get rid of her," Ron whispered back. "Leave it to me." Harry and Neville watched from under the Invisibility Cloak as Ron strode confidently into the room and said to the plump young woman sitting at the bedside, "Nurse—er"—he glanced at her name tag—"Nurse Colleen, I have orders from Dr. Leech to bleed the patient. Could you give me a hand?" Ron produced a handful of squirming, slimy creatures—leeches, in fact.   
  
Nurse Colleen put a hand to her mouth to muffle a shriek. She got up from her chair and began backing away slowly. "Saints preserve us … It's sorry I am," she whimpered, "but leeches are the one thing I can't stand. Anything else—bed baths—bedpans—vital signs—spoon feeding—but not …" her voice trailed off in a squeak.  
  
"I was hoping you would let me test one of them on you to make sure it works properly," said Ron with a hint of disappointment.   
  
Nurse Colleen shook her head emphatically, taking another step back.  
  
"Well then, perhaps you can tell me what medications Mrs. Longbottom has received in the last twelve hours?"   
  
"It—it should be on the chart," she stuttered, but couldn't bring herself to come near enough to consult it. Ron picked up the parchment chart hanging on the rail at the foot of the bed, and dropped a leech on it accidentally on purpose. "Oh, how careless of me," he said, shaking the leech off the page into his other hand with the rest of them. "Look what I've done." The chart was all slimy and soggy and smeared into illegibility.   
  
"Don't you be worrying about that," Nurse Colleen exclaimed, seeing an opening for escape. "I'll go and get a new one and fill it out right away."  
  
"Oh, that's not necessary," said Ron, letting her snatch the chart out of his hand.   
  
"Certainly it is," she said, moving toward the door. "And it's no trouble at all. If you'll just fill in for me with Mrs. Longbottom while I'm gone."   
  
"Well, if you're sure …" said Ron.   
  
"Not a bit of a problem," she said, and left the room.  
  
"Take as much time as you need," Ron called after her.   
  
Nurse Colleen hardly spared a glance at Ivy and Hemione as she walked by with the chart on her way to the nursing station down the corridor. When she got there she had recovered her composure and they heard her giggling with the other nurses about the butter-fingered medical students. "That was almost too easy," said Harry. "We'd better not lock the door, but we need a lookout. Hermione, will you watch at the door and warn us if anyone looks like they're coming in?"  
  
Hermione nodded. "I'll just replace some of these candles while I'm waiting," she said, pointing to a nearby candleholder on the corridor wall. "The nurses can tell me where to get them."  
  
Harry, Neville, and Ivy joined Ron in Aurelle Longbottom's room. Ivy closed the door, but didn't lock it. The room held a second bed, made up but empty. Four chairs, two nightstands, and a chest of drawers completed the furnishings. A door led to an adjoining bathroom. Harry pulled out the painting Ivy had appropriated and leaned it against the wall.   
  
Harry hadn't seen Neville's mother since the second time he had visited the hospital. She seemed as unreachable to him now as she had then, and if anything, even more delicate. Scattered grey strands lightened her dark curly hair.   
  
Ivy seated herself in the bedside chair and took the woman's hand without hesitation. "Aurelle, it's me, Ivy," she said. "Severus' niece. I've done what you asked." She sat quietly, concentrating. "We've brought something to wake you up." After another moment Ivy looked at Harry, Ron, and Neville, and said, "She's ready, but it may not be easy for her."  
  
Neville handed her the potion bottle and goblet he carried. Ivy carefully poured a dose and held the goblet of potion near Aurelle's face. The unconscious woman's chest rose as she took a breath, and the scent seemed to rouse her slightly from her sleep. Her head turned and her lips parted a little. Neville raised her head a bit and Ivy touched her lips with the goblet. When she tasted the potion, Aurelle stirred and murmured, "No—please—not this time, Lucius. Help me. Let me … let me …"  
  
"Mum, it's just us. It's me, Neville. We're trying to wake you up," Neville told her.   
  
Ivy gave her another sip and she grew more restless. "I'm trying … trying to come through …" She shuddered. "I don't know if I can … I keep getting lost in the dark … Please, Lucius, don't—the ground is shifting under me—I'm going to fall—"  
  
"Lucius Malfoy is not here," Ivy reassured her.  
  
"Not … here," echoed Aurelle. She accepted another mouthful of potion and her eyes opened, dilated and unseeing. "Lucius isn't here?" she asked anxiously.  
  
"Lucius is not here," Harry repeated.   
  
Ivy offered the potion again. After she had taken a bit more, Aurelle closed her eyes again and lay still for a moment, gathering her forces. "Where am I?" she asked.  
  
"You're in your room at St. Mungo's, Mum," said Neville.  
  
Aurelle's eyes opened again, this time with purpose behind them. She looked at Ivy, Neville, Harry, and Ron in turn. "Am I awake?" she asked.   
  
"You're awake, Aurelle," said Ivy.   
  
Aurelle reached for the goblet Ivy held and drank deeply from it. She sighed and said, "I've seen all of your faces in my dreams. I hoped you were real, but I wasn't sure."  
  
"We're real, Mum," said Neville.  
  
"I saw you, but I couldn't speak to you, though I tried," she went on. "Except for Octavius' child. You did as I asked, didn't you?" she appealed to Ivy.  
  
"Yes," said Ivy. "That danger is past. Harry's wand is safe."  
  
"But there's more danger coming … I can feel it getting closer," Aurelle whispered, shivering.   
  
"We'll meet it," Ivy declared. "We know more about it now."  
  
Aurelle's eyes turned to her son. "I was there," she said. "I was with Frank when he saw your face and knew you, Neville."  
  
"I don't understand, Mum," said Neville. "Weren't you here, in this room?"  
  
Aurelle smiled. "I don't need a Trempath to know what's going on in Frank's mind. I don't even have to be in the same room."  
  
"You know what he's thinking right now?" Neville asked.  
  
Her gaze turned inward. "Sometimes it's clearer than others," she replied, "especially when he feels something strongly … but it's more than that. I share in his suffering and his delusions. When he's confused, so am I."  
  
"So one Curser works for both of you," said Harry.  
  
"In a way," she agreed, "but it's still two against one. We fight the Curser together, and we're both still living. I know there are some who are surprised we haven't died yet. Considering how demented we are, you know."  
  
"Excuse me, but you don't seem very insane to me, Mrs. Longbottom," said Ron.  
  
"I got better," said Aurelle, with an almost mischievous look. "Enough that Lucius Malfoy had to put me to sleep. Lucius was one of the few people who didn't forget us. He kept visiting and his kindness seemed sincere. But I always had an untrustworthy feeling about him … Are you quite sure you're real?" she broke off to ask, searching each of their faces in turn.  
  
"I was last time I checked," said Ron. "Can't speak for all of us."  
  
"Of course we're real, Mum," said Neville forcefully. He took her hands and squeezed them. "You can feel that, can't you?"  
  
"I keep thinking I'm talking to someone who's finally going to help us," Aurelle said, her voice trembling, "explaining everything, and then realizing it was all a dream, or a hallucination … It happens over and over again. I feel as if I'll never get to the end of it."  
  
"You will, though," said Ivy. "We are real, even if Ron isn't convinced."  
  
Aurelle went on, "But one thing I do know: Frank is getting stronger and clearer. I can feel it, and I know it because Lucius is angry. Before he went on holiday, he thought Frank was going to die soon; I heard him say it. He sounded pleased. Lucius tries to hide his true feelings, but even when I don't know anything else, I can see right through him. He saw that I knew he didn't want us to recover, and that was why he started dosing me into a coma. And he left instructions to make sure I stayed asleep while he was gone."  
  
"With whom?" asked Harry.  
  
Aurelle paused, looking uncertain. "I don't know. I never saw his face, but I know there was someone. Lucius didn't want me to say—or see—anything suspicious.."  
  
"If anyone asked him, I bet he'd say that he was just glad that Frank's suffering would be over," said Ivy.  
  
"Oh, Lucius could always say the right words," said Aurelle. "He's very glib. But he couldn't hide how upset he was when he came back and saw that Frank had started to recover. Even in my sleep I could feel his rage and frustration. In my dreams he questioned me, over and over, asking me why, how could it be happening? Who was helping him? Sometimes he turned into a wolf and savaged me with his teeth and claws."  
  
"But didn't Mr. Malfoy know that Harry was the one helping him?" asked Neville.  
  
"Not at first. Frank begged Dr. Leech not to tell Lucius, and Dr. Leech humoured him, even if he did think it just a sick man's whim. But Lucius must have kept on questioning people until he learned about Harry's visits."   
  
"It can't have taken him very long," said Ron. "Ivy stole Harry's wand the night after Mr. Malfoy noticed that things weren't going his way."  
  
"This hasn't been easy for you, has it, Ivy?" said Aurelle.   
  
"I hope I didn't put you in too difficult a position."  
  
"It's been a bit sticky," Ivy confessed, "but I'm used to that."   
  
"Mum, Ivy's got the right stuff," Neville told his mother. "She knows how to take it on the chin and still carry on." Ivy's usually pale face turned faintly pink at Neville's words.  
  
"And Harry, I know what you've been through for Frank's sake."  
  
"It's hardly anything," Harry said, "compared to what—"   
  
"What you've done for him can't be measured," she interrupted him gently. "You promised to come back and you kept your word. You believed what he told you. Such a simple thing, yet nobody else could manage it."  
  
"It wasn't especially clever of me," said Harry. "I just happened to know that Peter Pettigrew was still alive."  
  
Aurelle closed her eyes and drew a breath. "I remember when Cornelius Fudge came himself to tell me that young Barty Crouch had died in Azkaban. He thought I would feel better knowing that Barty was dead. But I was terribly upset. It was too late to undo the injustice that had been done to him, and at the thought of it I broke down and cried. Fudge must have thought he had set me off just by mentioning Barty's name. For a long time after that I didn't have the heart to eat anything."  
  
"Aurelle," said Harry, "You probably haven't heard this, but young Barty Crouch isn't dead after all."  
  
Aurelle caught Harry's hand and looked in his eyes. "Barty's not dead? Are you quite certain? How is it possible?"  
  
"I saw him myself. It was his mother who died in Azkaban in his place, all those years ago. But his soul was taken by a dementor last year."  
  
"The Dementor's Kiss," she whispered. "Worse than death. For a moment I thought that perhaps something could be done for him."  
  
"But he doesn't deserve to have anything done for him," Ron objected. "He worked for You-Know-Who. He murdered his father. He tried to torture you."  
  
"Then he has all the more need for justice," said Aurelle. "He has never had a fair trial. If anyone needs his soul back, Barty does."  
  
"You say that like a true Hufflepuff, Mum," said Neville. "Gran told me you were a Hufflepuff at Hogwarts."  
  
"I was," she said, smiling as she remembered. "And what House are you in, Neville?"   
  
"I'm a Gryffindor," he said with pride.   
  
"Like your father," she told him. "Neville, I want you to remember something very important. Frank has always faced life like a Gryffindor. He knew how dangerous it was to work as an Auror, and he accepted the risks. He stood up to the worst that Pettigrew could do to him …" This time her memories gave her pain and she began to weep. "And ever since then …"  
  
"Mum, it's all right," said Neville awkwardly. "I wouldn't forget a thing like that, not about my Dad."  
  
"Of course you wouldn't," she sniffled. Ivy handed her a handkerchief.  
  
"Look," said Ron. "Why don't we make a list of everyone who's been especially brave, so we can hand out the medals? Neville's Dad comes first. Then there's Harry of course, and Ivy—I practically twisted her arm off last week—and don't forget Neville: he told Professor Snape where to get off, and we all know how scared he is of Snape …"   
  
"And Uncle Severus," Ivy reminded him.   
  
"Whatever," said Ron.   
  
"Severus still doesn't know what he's done for us," said Aurelle.  
  
"Neither do we, exactly," said Ron.  
  
Aurelle suddenly lost all her colour. "Lucius," she cried, "Lucius is here! You mustn't be seen with me!" And a moment later Hermione rushed into the room, looking as white as Aurelle.   
  
"Mr. Malfoy is coming down the hall! Quick, hide! The other bed." The five interlopers piled onto the empty bed and Harry pulled his cloak over all of them, making sure the side of them facing the door was completely covered, and hoping that nobody would sit down on them. Perhaps they should hide under the bed instead—but it was too late.  
  
When Lucius Malfoy swept in, looking assured and impeccable in night-blue robes with silver accents that set off his mane of platinum hair, Aurelle had closed her eyes and was breathing slowly and deeply, feigning the drugged sleep he had forced on her. Crouched on the other bed, the unseen watchers hardly dared to breathe, but breathing was difficult anyway.  
  
Lucius glanced around the room, and finding it empty of hospital staff and other inconvenient witnesses, as he thought, took a key from his robes, turned back, and locked the door from the inside. Then he approached the bed and looked down at Aurelle for a moment. He picked up her arm, which she carefully kept limp and unresisting, and took her pulse. He frowned. "Faster than it should be," he murmured. He put a hand on her forehead, then drew one of her eyelids open, not very gently, and she couldn't help pulling away. Lucius shook his head, clearly dissatisfied. He produced a stoppered glass bottle and a goblet from his robes, and poured a dose with great deliberation. He stowed the bottle away again.  
  
But when he tried to administer the potion to Aurelle, she opened her eyes and grasped his arm. "No more. I don't want to sleep any more, Lucius," she whispered.   
  
Lucius Malfoy dropped the goblet in astonishment, spilling its contents on the blanket. He took a moment to recover himself, then said gently, "Aurelle, my dear, I'm afraid it's necessary. You're very ill and this remedy is the only thing that will help you."  
  
"Perhaps I'm not … quite as ill as you think."  
  
Lucius measured out another dose from the bottle he carried. "You let me be the judge of that, Aurelle. Try to relax and not worry. We're taking care of everything." Still she turned her head away, avoiding the proffered goblet. The knowledge that her allies were secretly watching gave Aurelle unaccustomed strength, and she put up a determined resistance. "Don't fight me, Aurelle," Lucius urged her. "You'll only make it harder for yourself." He finally succeeded in directing some of the potion into her mouth, but she spat it out across his sleeve. His patience at an end, Lucius raised his arm and made to strike her into submission with a backhand blow to the face. Aurelle looked up at him, unflinching and unafraid. "Don't do this, Lucius," she said. "You'll be found out."  
  
Lucius Malfoy gave a snort of laughter and lowered his arm. "'Found out'?" he repeated, as if he found the idea quaintly melodramatic.   
  
"Frank will know," she told him confidently. "He always does."  
  
Malfoy looked at her with pity. "My poor Aurelle," he said, "You are deluded. Frank knows nothing. His mind is completely gone. And even if it wasn't, who would believe his ranting?"  
  
Under the Invisibility Cloak, Harry felt a sharp pain in his knuckles and became aware that Neville's hand was crushing his own. It dawned on him that Neville wasn't merely upset; he was screwing himself up for action. "Let me," Harry whispered, but Neville shook his head, looking determined and breathing hard.  
  
At least Harry could offer a bit of advice. He whispered in Neville's ear, "Door first," and Neville, after looking at him blankly for a moment, nodded in understanding. He slid out from under the cloak, trying not to let the bed creak, and moved as quietly as possible to the door, to make it look as if he had just entered.  
  
Neville pulled out his wand and demanded, "What are you doing to my Mum?"  
  
The rest of the second dose of potion joined the first on Aurelle's blanket as Lucius Malfoy turned abruptly. "How did you get through that door?" he demanded in turn, looking irate.  
  
Neville considered the question. "Oh … well … er… I have my ways," he fumbled for a properly cavalier reply. "What are you doing to my Mum?" he repeated, returning to the main point.  
  
"Your … Mum?" Lucius inquired. "Oh, you must be the Longbottom child." He made Neville sound like an infant.  
  
"Yes, I'm Neville Longbottom, and you must be Mr. Malfoy." Harry could have sworn he almost added, /Pleased to meet you./  
  
"I'm afraid visiting hours are over, my boy," Lucius Malfoy said a shade impatiently. "You and your grandmother had best be on your way."   
  
Neville looked as if he were about to apologize and leave, but he steeled himself and reiterated, "Not until—I asked you what you're doing to my Mum."  
  
"And I asked you how you got through that door, boy," Draco's father snapped.  
  
"Wouldn't you like to know … sir," Neville quavered, defiance still warring with politeness.  
  
Lucius's manner suddenly changed and he dripped oily sympathy. "All of this must be very hard for you, young Longbottom. Seeing your parents so deranged, year after year. Knowing they're beyond help. It's no wonder you're overwrought."  
  
You'll never get a straight answer at this rate, thought Harry. To his relief, Neville took a more direct tack. "I saw you threaten to hit my Mum when she wouldn't take your potion," he accused.   
  
Lucius Malfoy poured a third dose for Aurelle, shaking his head. "You must be mistaken, young Longbottom," he contradicted smoothly. "I'm only trying to help your mother."  
  
"It's no use, Lucius," said Aurelle. "Neville knows."  
  
"I saw you, sir," Neville insisted.  
  
"But her mind is so damaged that she sees even her helpers as enemies," the man went on sadly, as if neither of them had spoken. He held the goblet to her lips, but she twisted her head away. "Come, Aurelle. Let me give you your medicine so you can get the rest you need." It was clear that Lucius badly wanted to shut her up before she said any more.  
  
"I don't need more rest," Aurelle protested. "Please. I'm sick of resting."  
  
Neville pointed his wand at Lucius. "Stop it now," he ordered. "Don't make her drink it." His hand shook so hard that Harry wondered if he were about to drop the wand. Harry was beginning to realize that Neville had one definite advantage over the famous Potter in this situation: he was easy to underestimate. He looked anything but imposing. Lucius Malfoy was not on his guard; hadn't even reached for his own wand.   
  
"Or you'll do what?" jeered Lucius. "Will it be Cruciatus or Imperius, boy? I know how distraught you must be, but I haven't got time for this." He reached over, pinched Aurelle's nose shut between his finger and thumb, and held the goblet to her mouth again.   
  
There was only one thing for Neville to do, and he did it.   
  
"/T-t-titillo!/" he exclaimed, and Lucius spilled the third dose of potion as he doubled over with helpless laughter. Neville was laughing too, but he managed to keep his wand pointed at Lucius until the man dropped the goblet and staggered, clutching the bed rail for support. When Neville lifted the charm, the laughter in Lucius' face gave way a look of hatred. He pulled out his own wand.  
  
"/Expelliarmus,/" he said almost casually, and caught Neville's wand expertly as it sailed toward him, tucking it into his robes. His scornful smile returned and he looked cool and poised again, except for his quickened breathing. "Not a bad try, young Longbottom, but you've still got a great deal to learn about dueling."  
  
"You can't do that to my Mum anymore," Neville replied obstinately. "I won't let you."  
  
"But my dear boy," Lucius said softly, "I have your wand. How are you going to stop me?"  
  
"I have my ways," Neville said again, this time with more confidence. Lucius held the upper hand again for the moment, but he seemed reluctant to force matters by getting out his potion bottle again. Neville had definitely scored.   
  
Harry caught an impression of movement out of the corner of his eye. Octavius Snape had found his way into the painting they had brought in, which Lucius Malfoy had not yet noticed. Octavius took in the situation at a glance. Moving slowly and quietly, he bent over the table and wrote something on a bit of parchment. Before leaving the painting, he propped the note against the flower vase so it would be visible to observers: "Help on the way. O. S." Then he was gone.  
  
Harry wondered if he and his companions could keep things from coming to a head again before Octavius arrived with reinforcements. But after all, why should they? Even with Neville disarmed, they were still four against one, and still held the advantage of surprise.   
  
The situation was delicate. None of them were supposed to be there. If they revealed themselves, at any moment someone else might show up who trusted Lucius Malfoy and would take his side against a gang of truants from Hogwarts with admittedly flimsy disguises. In that case, however, Lucius would have to behave himself and at least pretend to be well-intentioned. This fact might protect Aurelle for the time being, but not in the long run, and certainly not the rest of them. And if by any chance they did manage to overpower Lucius Malfoy before anyone else arrived, when events came to light it would be his word against theirs, with even more hot water waiting for them at the end of it. As far as Harry was concerned, a basilisk or a Hungarian Horntail would be much simpler to deal with.  
  
"I think perhaps you had better go, boy," said Lucius Malfoy to Neville, "before this little charade goes any further … against you."  
  
"I can't, sir," said Neville.  
  
"Why ever not?" Lucius demanded.   
  
"You have my wand. And the door is locked."   
  
"He has you there, Lucius," Aurelle couldn't resist remarking. /Ron, don't you dare laugh,/ thought Harry. Malfoy's lips thinned with irritation and he raised a hand, clenched it, and lowered it again. He strode over to the door, used his key to unlock it, and stood with his hand on the knob, waiting for Neville to leave.   
  
"May I have my wand back, sir?" Neville asked, staying where he was.   
  
"I think not," said Lucius. "I'll keep it for you, at least for a while."  
  
"But, Mr. Malfoy, I'll get into the most awful trouble at school if I don't have it," said Neville in a worried voice. "If I tell them you took it nobody will believe me."  
  
Good, thought Harry. He's stalling for time.   
  
"Lucius, I'll thank you to return my son's wand to him," said Aurelle.  
  
"I'll send it back to Hogwarts in a day or two, Aurelle," said Lucius. "The boy needs a lesson in respect for his betters."  
  
"No, he doesn't, Lucius," she told him, holding his gaze until he looked away, reddening slightly. His eyes narrowed as, again, his patience reached an end. He grasped Neville by the arm and started to steer him to the door.   
  
Neville resisted. "I'm not leaving, sir," he declared.   
  
"I think you'll find that you are leaving, boy," said Lucius through his teeth, completely exasperated. Neville was naturally not strong enough to stop Lucius from dragging him out the door by force, but he was doing his best to make it difficult. Pulling against Lucius' powerful grip, he managed to trip over his own feet and fall flat on the floor. Way to go, Neville! the hidden watchers cheered silently. He almost succeeded in pulling Lucius down with him, but the man grasped the back of a chair and recovered his balance.   
  
"Get up, boy," snarled Lucius, tugging.   
  
"Yes, sir," said Neville, but for some reason his feet kept sliding out from under him every time he tried to rise. A puddle of spilled potion, perhaps. Lucius, his nostrils flaring dangerously, reached for his wand.  
  
Harry was through with letting things take their own course. Without giving Lucius a chance to decide which spell would give him the effect he wanted, Harry threw off his Invisibility Cloak, pulled out his wand, pointed it at Lucius, and shouted, "/Aquafrigida!/"   
  
Caught completely by surprise, Lucius Malfoy let go of Neville's arm and shielded his own face from the icy blast. He did not, however, drop his wand. Drat. But Ron also emerged from hiding, and with another "Aquafrigida!" directed a second bone-chilling spray of water at Lucius' wand hand. This did the trick. Ivy whisked over and pounced on the dropped wand before it could roll under Aurelle's bed. When she had moved safely out of the way, Ivy pointed her wand at Lucius and said, "/Accio wand!/" before he could put a hand on Neville's wand himself. She plucked it out of the air as it flew toward her, and held it out for Neville to take. Finally, Harry and Ron stopped soaking their classmate's father and Hermione quickly dried him off.  
  
Lucius Malfoy glared at all of them. "I should have guessed that Potter would be at the bottom of this," he hissed. "And his loathsome little friends." (Ron was as tall as he was, and still bearded.) "But I wasn't aware that you kept such low company, Miss Parkinson," he added in a tone of reproachful surprise. "And I will thank you to return my wand to me, young lady."  
  
"I think not," said Ivy coolly. "I'll send it back in a day or two, Mr. Malfoy."   
  
"How dare you address me in that insolent fashion? The Head of your House at Hogwarts will hear about this, girl," Lucius warned her.  
  
At this, Ivy smiled. "Oh, I do hope so," she said. "Speaking of whom—look, here he is now."  
  
The door had opened and two black-haired, black-eyed wizards appeared—Octavius and Severus Snape. Octavius was taller and broader than his brother, and in person, even more than in a painting, gave the impression of a wizard to be reckoned with.  
  
"Well, Lucius," said Octavius pleasantly, "it's been a long time."  
  
"Severus. Octavius. You don't often have business here," said Lucius rather formally. It was more than half a question.  
  
"We do tonight, Lucius," said Professor Snape shortly.  
  
"We wanted to see how the Longbottoms are doing," said Octavius. "I've heard that Frank has taken a turn for the better."  
  
"But visiting hours are over, gentlemen," Lucius pointed out, as he had to Neville.  
  
"You appear to be visiting, Lucius," Professor Snape noted.  
  
"I am employed here," Lucius replied.   
  
"But not in a medical capacity," said Octavius. "Your position doesn't give you the run of the hospital as far as I know."  
  
Lucius shrugged. "Certain connections come with certain privileges, as you well know, Octavius. And I have taken an interest in the plight of the Longbottoms for a number of years."  
  
"That's why they're still here," muttered Ron under his breath.   
  
"And these young people," Octavius gestured to the five Hogwarts students. "Are they visiting as well?"  
  
"These—these young people," Lucius almost sputtered, "are here without permission—skulking and spying—they have behaved abominably and with an utter lack of respect—and Miss Parkinson refuses to return my wand to me!" He realized that his dignity was getting away from him and took a fresh grip on it.   
  
Ivy looked a question at her father, and he gave a small nod. "Oh, pardon me, did you want your wand back, sir? Here it is," said Ivy, handing it over. Lucius took it without a word and put it away.  
  
Octavius stood in silence for a moment, watching the room and the people in it. When he looked at Aurelle, he saw that her eyes were open and went over to her.  
  
"Aurelle," he said. "You're awake."   
  
"Am I, Octavius?" she asked, stretching out a hand to him. "Is it really you?"   
  
"Yes to both questions," he answered, pressing her fingers to reassure her. "My dear, it won't be much longer now. The nightmare is almost over."   
  
"Your young Ivy said nearly the same thing to me," said Aurelle. "I'm afraid to believe it. How can you be sure, Octavius?"  
  
"I think you sense it yourself, Aurelle."  
  
"I might—but I've been so confused. I don't trust my senses anymore."  
  
"But, Mrs. Longbottom, you knew when Lucius Malfoy was coming," Ron reminded her.  
  
"Oh, that's easy enough," she dismissed his point. "I can smell him a mile away."   
  
Lucius looked as if he wanted to say something, but settled on appearing resigned to the shocking rudeness of mental patients.  
  
"Just don't give up hope, Aurelle," urged Octavius.   
  
"Not while you're here, my old friend," she promised.  
  
Octavius turned back to Malfoy. "Well, Lucius, everything seems to be in order here, except for a bit of spilled liquid, which I am sure the staff will remove as soon as they're made aware of it. The patient is showing welcome signs of rationality. The room is undisturbed and you appear to be quite unscathed. What seems to be the problem?"  
  
"These—they—" Lucius began, apparently at a loss to explain how the Hogwarts delegation had caught him abusing the patient and succeeded in putting a stop to it.  
  
"Perhaps one of the students could explain," Professor Snape suggested, giving them a hard look and taking in the hospital uniforms, name tags, and facial hair.   
  
Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Ivy glanced at each other and shifted their feet.  
  
"Well, you see, sir," began Harry.   
  
"We wanted to see my Mum," Neville chimed in, "so we were talking to her, and Mr. Malfoy came in and she told us to hide, and he tried to make her drink something she didn't want, and he was going to smack her one and so we used some spells that Professor Snape taught us."  
  
"I see," said Octavius with just a hint of doubt.   
  
"Ah," said Professor Snape with a glint of satisfaction, even approval, as he looked at Neville. "My students may turn out a credit to my teaching after all."  
  
"Young Longbottom seems to be under the mistaken impression that I was mistreating his mother," Lucius protested, "when I was only trying to help her."  
  
"I saw you, sir," Neville repeated obstinately.   
  
"I'm not responsible for what you thought you saw, boy," Lucius snapped.  
  
"We all saw you, Mr. Malfoy," said Ron. "You threatened to hit her. It was obvious." Harry, Ivy, and Hermione nodded in confirmation.   
  
"The evidence appears to be against you, Lucius," stated Professor Snape.  
  
"Appearances can be misleading," said Lucius, "particularly when patients don't know what's good for them. But why would you take their word against mine? These students are here with no authorization and in violation of several hospital rules. Clearly they are playing some sort of juvenile prank. Why are they not being questioned?"  
  
"I have already inquired into their activities," said Octavius, "and I am satisfied that their business here is legitimate."  
  
"So you're satisfied, are you, Octavius?" Lucius commented. "You seem to think that your word is law, when actually you have no authority in this situation."  
  
"But as a Hogwarts professor, I do have it, Lucius," said Professor Snape, "and I have my own reasons for agreeing with Octavius."  
  
Lucius Malfoy paused and looked from the older brother to the younger, the two of them siding together against him, and chuckled quietly as if at some old memory. "You make an interesting pair, you Snapes," he said. "You could have been great if you had stayed with me, Severus. You made a promising start. But you lost your resolve and turned back, and look at you now. A schoolmaster, a potion peddler, kept on at Hogwarts because old Dumbledore has a soft spot in his heart for you." Professor Snape glared at him with wordless loathing.  
  
"The path you wanted Severus to follow would have meant disaster for him, Lucius," Octavius argued. "You always liked having other wizards in thrall to you."  
  
"And you, Octavius," Lucius went on. "Imagine how influential you might have become, if you hadn't been wasting your time with crackpot schemes and empty philosophy in that ivory tower of yours. I suppose you think you'll come down and enlighten us all someday." But Octavius merely smiled.  
  
Ivy crossed the room and stood next to Octavius, facing Lucius Malfoy. "My father could have had his pick of posts at the Ministry of Magic, but he refused them all. He has better things to do than answer to the likes of you, Mr. Malfoy," she flung at him.  
  
"Ah yes," said Lucius silkily. "The noted author of such books as /Pitfalls of Magical Bureaucracy/. You wouldn't have had a long career at the Ministry with that title to your name. Your ideas are quite … quite unorthodox, Octavius."  
  
"Precisely, Lucius," said Octavius composedly. "But I wasn't aware that you had actually read my work. I admit I'm flattered."  
  
Malfoy looked uneasy, as if he were afraid that Octavius would start quizzing him on the book's contents then and there. He opened his mouth and closed it again.  
  
"The Ministry wouldn't have let Father carry out his independent research on reversing the Dementor's Kiss, either," Ivy put in. Octavius looked at her in mild surprise and she added, "But I wasn't supposed to know about that."   
  
"Indeed," Octavius agreed gravely. "But I suppose by now I should know better than to try to keep anything from you, daughter."  
  
"Reversing the Dementor's Kiss? Total waste of time," scoffed Lucius.  
  
"Many of those at the Ministry see it that way too," said Professor Snape.   
  
"But it can't be done," Lucius objected.  
  
"I have come to believe that it can," said Ivy's father.  
  
"But surely you have no proof, Octavius."  
  
"Not yet. But I am preparing a test."  
  
During this exchange Aurelle beckoned Harry over to her. He moved close enough to hear her whisper, "Frank is coming."  
  
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AN: I'm afraid this gets dreadfully talky, but there's stuff that needs explaining... 


	17. 16 An Offer Refused

AN:  Sorry if this chapter is a bit long and talky.  Thanks to Kyntor for attentive, insightful criticisms.  You make good points!  My thinking is this: True, the Gryffindors would eventually have found a way to take matters into their own hands, but fortunately didn't have to; and per your second point, could they turn Draco in without incriminating Ivy as well, who ACTUALLY stole Harry's wand?  You can bet Draco would put as much blame on her as possible.  The issue comes up in this chapter.  And I think you'll find that Lucius' eventual fate in chapter 18 has a certain poetic justice.   NB: Next week look for my short story, "Harry Potter and the Portrait Studio," which takes place the summer after OOTP.

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**Chapter 16.****  An Offer Refused**

            There was a knock on the door and Harry went over and opened it.  Frank and Lucretia Longbottom appeared.  "Frank seemed to think …" began Lucretia, and trailed off as her eyes moved from Lucius and Aurelle to the rest of the assembled group.  

            "He was right, Lucretia," Octavius told her.  "It is time for many things to be resolved."

            Frank reeled when he saw the number of people in the room.  He covered his face, breathing hard and whispering something to himself.  Harry couldn't tell whether it was the Opposition Verse or the sprinkling-can version.  

            "Take them one at a time," his mother advised him.  

            Frank made a great effort to master himself, and locked eyes with Lucius Malfoy.  "You look very like a rat today, Lucius," he said coolly.  "I trust you find that satisfactory."

            "Your infirmity excuses you from giving offense," Malfoy replied in icy tones.

            Harry heard a hissing sound, turned his head, and saw one of Salazara's heads appearing at the neck of Ivy's robes.  Ivy listened as the snake whispered in her ear, then undid the fastening of her robe and allowed the Runespoor to unwind herself and drop to the floor, where she glided toward Frank Longbottom with growing agitation, her eyes gleaming red.  "_Let me kill, let me destroy the monstrosity, the horrible thing," her three heads rasped as she approached.  Frank stood his ground and let her come.  _

            "Salazara means you no harm, Frank.  She senses the Curser within you," Octavius told him.  

            "I understand, Octavius," said Frank.  All the same, he began to tremble with fear.

            "Mr. Snape, do you speak Parseltongue too?" Harry asked Octavius.  

            "I am not a native speaker, as you might say, but Ivy and Salazara have graciously allowed me to pick up a few words," Octavius replied.

            Harry moved to Frank's side and held out his hand.  Frank looked at him doubtfully.  "Are you sure about this, Harry?" he asked.  "You don't know …"

            "I know that this is what I'm here for," said Harry.  His hand closed on the Trempath and his stomach twisted with hope and mortal fear.

            Salazara addressed Harry with her middle head.  "_It is possible," she told him.  "_I can free him from the demon he carries, if that is his wish._"_

            "Salazara says she can take the Curser away," Harry translated.

            "I've waited for years to hear that," whispered Frank.  "I'd given up hoping.  Can it really be true?"

            "Surely a mere snake can't do what all the most distinguished experts at St. Mungo's have not been able to accomplish in a dozen years," said Lucius Malfoy. 

            "You don't know Salazara," said Ivy.  

            "And perhaps," added Octavius, "the unusual powers of the Runespoor have not been tried in this situation."

            "This is preposterous," said Malfoy.  "This snake is out of control, and it is simply irresponsible to allow it roam unchecked."  He pulled out his wand and pointed it at the Runespoor, but Ivy was too quick for him.  She stepped between him and Salazara and her left hand bore down on Lucius' wand while she groped with her right for her own wand, hampered by the lack of wand pockets in her candy-striper robe.  Luicus' spell misfired and hit the floor, where it made a smoking hole.  

            Ivy looked at Lucius with wide eyes.  "You would have killed her, wouldn't you?"

            "If necessary," he answered.  "Runespoors can be very dangerous."

            "But not as dangerous as a trigger-happy wizard," Octavius pointed out.  "Stop waving your wand around, Lucius, before you hurt somebody.  Anyone would think you had something to hide."  

            "Nonsense," said Lucius haughtily.

            "_It will not be easy_," warned Salazara's right head, resuming where she had been so rudely interrupted.  

"_But it can be done,_" continued the left.  "_The conditions are favourable.  The host has done what is necessary to prepare himself.  He has learned the proper incantations.  He knows who the Curser's creator is.   He has chosen a Trempath partner who can speak to me, and who has spared the life of the Curser's creator."  Ivy translated Salazara's words into English._

"The proper incantations?" repeated Ron.  "Does she mean the Opposition Verse and the Sprinkling-Can Verse?"

Salazara nodded her middle head, which went on, "_The host's Trempath partner, Harry Potter, has brought an important document."_

As Ivy translated this, Harry reached into his robes and brought out the ragged parchment which contained the Marauder's Map.  He showed it to Salazara and she nodded her three heads.  "_The Curser's creator is there too," said the middle head.  "_And one who has been betrayed by him to death at the hands of the Dark Lord._"_

"The one so betrayed was James Potter," said Octavius.  

"Did you know my father, sir?" asked Harry.

"Indeed I did," said Octavius.  "And the rest of the crew as well."  

Harry placed the map on the table by the empty bed.  Resting the tip of his wand on it, he asked, "What can you tell me about Octavius Snape?"

Words began appearing on the parchment.  "_Octavius?_  Mr. Padfoot would say that he's not a bad sort, considering that he's a Slytherin and brother to that slimy Severus."__

_"Mr. Prongs admits that actually he's been quite helpful."_

_"It is Mr. Moony's  judgment  that we couldn't have made this map without him."_

_"Mr. Wormtail thought that his suggestions were quite interesting._"  As Wormtail's words appeared, Salazara's three heads let out a slow, ominous hiss.

"So it was you, Mr. Snape," said Ron.  "You were the one in the painting who told Fred and George how to work the map."

"Yes, it was I," said Octavius.  "The map's makers came to me for advice several times while they were putting it together.  And when the Weasley twins found it and I told them how to use it, I asked them to promise that they would someday pass the map on to someone who needed it.  I am pleased to see that they kept their word."

Professor Snape wore an annoyed expression.  "I remember that parchment, Potter.  I knew there was more to it than you told me.  I had no idea Octavius was involved, though I suppose I shouldn't be surprised.  So it's a map, is it, Potter?"

            "Yes, Professor," said Harry, feeling himself turning red as he remembered the Potions Master's first encounter with the Marauder's Map.  "But not just a map," he added, and stopped, not wanting to go into further explanations.

Salazara's left head continued, "_The host's Trempath partner, Harry Potter, owns a wand that is capable of unlocking Dark secrets."  Ivy translated.  _

            Lucius Malfoy gave a start.  He said sharply, "Let me see that, Potter."

            "What, sir?" Harry asked.  

            "Your wand, boy!  Let me look at it!"  Lucius shouted.  He held out his hand for Harry's wand.  "Now!"

            Harry did not hand his wand over.  He held it up.  "I'll show it to you."

            "Keep your hands to yourself, Malfoy.  Look, but don't touch," said Professor Snape.

            Lucius Malfoy looked at the Potions Master with raised eyebrows, as if the other man had committed a terrible social gaffe.  "As you wish, Severus," he growled.  He made a show of clasping his hands behind his back, stepped close to Harry's upheld wand, and studied it carefully.  Harry turned it so the tiny scar would be clearly visible.   "This mark," said Lucius.  "When did it happen?"  

            "Last year," said Harry.

            A spasm of fury twisted Lucius' face.  "Draco," he whispered.  "The boy swore to me that he had done what I asked.  He'll answer for this—" he broke off.  Harry put his wand back into his robes before any accidents could happen to it.

            "Don't blame Draco, sir," Ivy said steadily, looking straight at Draco's father.  "He didn't lie to you.  He believed he had done what you wanted.  I made sure of that."

            "_You!" Lucius exploded.  "What do you know about it?"_

            "I learned that Harry's wand was in danger, and I did what I could to keep it safe."

            Lucius' rage had shattered his habitual caution.  "I might have known Octavius' little brat would ruin everything!"  He reached for his wand, his face distorted.

            Octavius placed himself in front of Ivy.  His eyes flamed white-hot, but he spoke quietly.  "Never speak about my daughter that way, Lucius.  And if you ever lay a spell or a hand on her in anger, it will go the worse for you.  I hope I make myself clear."

            "My sentiments exactly," agreed Professor Snape, his black eyes glittering like his brother's.  Lucius looked from one man to the other and put his wand away with a jerk.  

            Octavius moved behind Ivy and put his hands on her shoulders.  "Ivy didn't have to tell you what she did.  She could have let your son Draco take the blame for your … dissatisfaction.  But that's not the way she was brought up to behave."  

            "Naturally she told me when you were here to back her up," Lucius muttered, sounding almost like a sulky schoolboy.

            "And what would have become of her if I hadn't been?" Octavius inquired.  "You would not have harmed her, would you, Lucius?"  He looked pointedly at the hole in the floor.

            "Of course not, Octavius," said Lucius impatiently, "but perhaps she needs a lesson in minding her own business."

            "I will be the judge of that, Lucius," said Octavius glacially, "yet I might suggest that you could profit from the same lesson.  I won't ask you to explain the words you let slip in an unguarded moment, but you will have to account for them one way or another."

            "More threats, Octavius?" Lucius had recovered his self-possession and now shook his head, sounding almost sorrowful.

"You seem to be dealing out lessons with a free hand today, Lucius," said Aurelle.  "There's no reason why you shouldn't have your share of them."

"It's a good thing Madam Nightingale didn't see you, Mr. Malfoy," said Neville earnestly.  

"Yeah, she would have given you a lecture in anger management," added Harry.  

Salazara's left head continued, "_The special powers of Harry Potter's wand have made it possible for Aurelle Longbottom to be awakened."  Ivy hesitated for a long moment before translating Salazara's words.  "__Everyone here must understand," insisted the Runespoor's right head, and Ivy repeated both statements in English._

Lucius Malfoy looked outraged.  "Have you students been meddling in my office?" he asked dangerously.  

"Your office?" Ivy asked blankly.  "We haven't been to the Ministry of Magic, Mr. Malfoy."

"I mean my office here, at the hospital," Malfoy said impatiently.

"Oh, do you have an office here, sir?" asked Neville, making good use of his talent for looking innocent.

"What makes you think these students have been in your office, Lucius?" asked Octavius.

Lucius, realizing that he was about to implicate himself again, subsided into smoldering silence.  

But Salazara wasn't finished.  "_The host's only other successful Trempath partner is also present_," said her middle head, and Ivy translated, looking at her uncle with love and pride.

Professor Snape, finding himself the focus of attention, turned brick-red and lifted his chin.

"Severus," said Frank.  "You're here.  I hoped you would come."

"So I heard, Longbottom."  

            "Severus, I never got a chance to thank you for what you did."

            "What I did?" 

            "You gave Aurelle back to me."  Frank looked over at his wife.

            "I don't—"

            "Before you came, I couldn't see her face.  All I could see when I looked at her was a rat. By the time you left she had her own face again.  I sorrowed and raged over what had been done to her, but at least she was herself.  And, Severus," said Frank, "I must ask your forgiveness.  I failed to realize what I was doing to you."

"You'll get no forgiveness from me.  It's no use apologising, Longbottom," said Snape harshly.  

"But I have caused you—"

"I will not listen to such folly," Professor Snape interrupted.  "I will accept your thanks, but not your apologies.  It is an outrage.  You are completely blameless."

"But you are angry."

"Not with you, Longbottom."  Severus Snape's eyes moved to Lucius Malfoy, and then back to the door, as a sound from it caught his attention.  The knob was turning, and the latch opened with a small click.  

"Ah," said Octavius.  "At last."

            The door opened slowly and a man walked in wearing dark glasses and a surgical mask.  He carried a book under his arm.  He turned his blank face around the room until he apparently caught sight of Lucius Malfoy, and began walking toward him.  When Lucius saw the man his whole body tensed and his eyes widened in alarm, but he tried to conceal his agitation.  "_Not here," he whispered urgently.  But the man continued to approach him with the air of a sleepwalker.  "I'll see you in my office later," Lucius added in a low voice, trying to sound offhand.  "No need to bother about those papers now; I'll deal with them later."_

            Salazara raised her heads alertly, and all of her eyes burned with a fierce red light.  "_The Curser's creator is here,_" said all three of her heads at once.  "_The truth will at last be told._"

            "Are you Peter Pettigrew?" Harry asked in amazement.  But the man shook his head wordlessly.  

            "Who are you, then?" Hermione asked.  The man stood without answering, though Lucius Malfoy was signaling to him to leave the room.  Hermione shrugged, pointed her want at him and said, "_Diffindo!_" The strings of his mask snapped and it slipped from his face.  Hermione continued, "_Accio Spectacles!_" and caught his dark glasses as they sailed toward her.  A pale, freckled face came to light, with vacant eyes and a slack expression.  

            Harry whispered, "It's Barty Crouch's son."

            "Minus his soul, I do believe," said Ron.  

            "He's supposed to be in Azkaban!" said Lucretia Longbottom severely.  

            "But, Salazara, the younger Barty Crouch did _not _create the Curser in Frank Longbottom," said Harry in English.

            "_That is correct_," Salazara's middle head replied.  

            Ron grasped the meaning, though not the words, of what she said.  He went over and stood in front of the soulless man.  "Give him to me, Barty," he said.  "He used to be mine, you know."  Young Crouch reached slowly into a pocket, pulled out a grey rat looking much the worse for wear, and handed it over. Ron flinched at the touch of Crouch's hand.  

            "No!" exclaimed Lucius, as if the word were yanked out of him.

            Ron turned to Lucius Malfoy, the rat beginning to twist in his grip.  "Do you know anything about this rat, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked.  

            Malfoy's hands clenched at his sides as he strove once more to calm himself.  "Rats aren't allowed at St. Mungo's," he said.  "Most unsanitary."

            Ron lifted the rat and studied it carefully.  "Definitely unsanitary, you're right about that," he agreed with Lucius.  "No, you're not going anywhere," he told the rat as it tried desperately to escape.  "One toe missing on the left," he observed, "and the right front paw seems to be made of some kind of metal."

            "Pettigrew's right hand is made of silver," Harry told him, looking at the limb in question.  "I wondered if it would stay that way when he turned into a rat again."  The rat began to fill Harry's vision and his stomach churned with fear and hatred, both his own and Frank Longbottom's.  

            "I know that rat," muttered Frank.  "It is really a rat, isn't it?  Not just one of my delusions?"

            "It's really a rat, Frank," Lucretia told him in a voice of disgust.  

            "I should like to step on it," Frank said decidedly. 

            "Go for it, dearest," said Aurelle.

            "I recognize that rat myself," said Professor Snape.  "Trampling's too good for it."

            "So this is the notorious Wormtail," said Ivy with interest.  "I've heard so much about him.  None of it good."

            "I know just what to do with him," said Ron.  "Rats aren't allowed here, so we'll have to make him stop being one."   He put his free hand in the pocket of his medical uniform and pulled out the mass of leeches he had picked up in the examining room.  

            "What are you doing with those?" demanded Lucius Malfoy.  His hand moved toward his wand, but Octavius stopped him with a look.  Professor Snape had his wand out, just in case.

            "You'll find out if you just watch, Lucius," said the Potions master.  

Ron held the handful of slimy, squirming, hungry leeches close to the terrified rat in his other hand.  "One of these would bleed you dry in about a minute, I'd say.  Would you like to try one and see?  Or will you change into your human shape?  You'd better decide quickly."

The rat continued to writhe and squeak in panic.  As one of the leeches began to fasten itself to the rat's side, Ron loosened his hold just a bit, and the rat exploded into a full-grown man, though not a very tall one.  His left hand clutched his side and he shrieked, "_Get it off me!_"  Hermione used her wand to persuade the leech to let go, but she said, "It's not very dangerous to humans, you know."  

Peter Pettigrew clearly didn't care.  His watery eyes looked with horror at the leech and  down at the oozing wound in his side.  He looked much as Harry remembered him from their previous encounters: short, balding, unkempt, and ratlike.

"Well now," said Octavius, scanning the room.  "I believe everyone is here.  Isn't that so, Salazara?"  She nodded her heads at him, and he shut the door and locked it, adding an interruption-repellent spell for good measure.  "Lucky thirteen, plus a highly knowledgeable Runespoor."

"I remember your face.  The Curser won't show me his face, but I can see yours, Peter, and it's a guilty one."  Frank was shaking with anger as he looked at Pettigrew.   "Do you know what you did to Aurelle?" he demanded.  Pettigrew couldn't hold Frank's gaze, and dropped his eyes.  "No, you look me in the eye and tell me whether you deserve have done to you what you did to my wife and child.  And don't turn back into a rat when I'm speaking to you!" he added.  

Pettigrew's eyes moved to the leeches Ron was still holding.  "I'm n-not," he said in a wavering voice.  

Frank rubbed a hand over his eyes and looked again, murmuring something about submarines.  "Right," he said.  Harry started reciting the sprinkling-can verse under his breath.  

"I gave him a dose of Severus' potion before we came," Lucretia told Harry in an undertone.  "And an infusion of horseweed and fairy butter, too.  I don't think more will help him right now."

"He's doing just fine," Harry whispered back between lines.

"Whatever you think I did, you're wrong," muttered Pettigrew, staring at the floor.  "You can't trust your memory, you know."  

Frank grabbed the front of Pettigrew's shirt and pulled him close. (Pettigrew had on a few rags of nondescript clothing.)  "How dare you lie to me, after everything you've done?" he said through his teeth.  "You have no shame, have you?  No depths are too low for you, are they?"

"It wasn't me, it was Barty," whimpered Pettigrew.  "Everybody knows it was Barty."

"I've heard that one before!" Frank roared.  "I'm sick of it!  I don't ever want to hear it again!"  Pettigrew flinched away from the blast, but Frank held him fast. 

"That line only works when everyone thinks you're dead, Wormtail," said Ivy.  "Come here, Salazara," she addressed her pet, still speaking in English.  "Keep holding onto him, Mr. Longbottom, until I'm finished."  She picked up the Runespoor and draped her over Pettigrew's shoulders, and Salazara poised her right head near Pettigrew's neck.  Harry saw Neville shiver as he remembered being threatened the same way.   Frank released his grip on Pettigrew's shirt.  

"Don't move, Wormtail," Ivy warned him.  "Salazara knows whether or not you tell the truth, and if you lie, she'll bite you.  The bite from a Runespoor's right head is dangerous and very painful.  It won't kill you, but it causes …"

"Mental aberrations," said Neville with a shudder.  

"Take it away," gasped Pettigrew, not daring to lift a hand to the Runespoor himself.  

"_Stupefy!_" shouted Lucius Malfoy.  He had quietly drawn his wand during the confrontation between Frank Longbottom and Peter Pettigrew, and now made his move.  Salazara sagged into limpness as the spell hit her left head, and Pettigrew pulled her from his shoulders and flung her away from him—straight to Lucius, who caught her and held her by her middle neck, not gently.  Pettigrew saw Professor Snape lift his wand, and before the Potions master could disarm Malfoy, pushed young Crouch in his direction.  Crouch, who wasn't all there to begin with, stumbled and dropped the book he was holding.  He toppled into Professor Snape, sending him off balance, spoiling his aim, and making his wand fly out of his hand and land on the floor.   

"Leave it, Severus," Lucius warned, as Professor Snape shoved Crouch out of the way and  made a move to go and pick up his wand.  Lucius took two steps and placed his foot on the wand.  "I think this absorbing little drama has gone quite far enough," he added softly.  "Threatening people with snakebites is simply not acceptable." He looked around the room, holding Salazara in one hand and his wand in the other.  "Nobody move.   I can kill this snake in an instant, and I will if I have to.  That wasn't bad at all, Peter, but you'd better not funk it now.  You'll regret it if you do."  Lucius had apparently forgotten that Pettigrew was supposed to have died a hero's death.

Everyone who had come to help the Longbottoms stood frozen with horror.  Ivy chewed her knuckles, blinking back tears, and Octavius slowly eased an arm around her.  Harry's vision wavered, and the faces around him rippled as if seen under water.  Rats … humans … He felt the black despair of the man who saw his sudden chance for escape hanging by a thread, and sensed the return of the Curser, which had been weakened by hope.  A red-hot bolt of pain shot through his scar, and he staggered, clutching his head.  He began reciting the Opposition Verse, and Frank joined in.  "_You may think you can torture me into submission_…"  Frank withdrew into the private world of his inner combat.  Harry dared not take out his wand even for that purpose.  He tried to reserve a sliver of consciousness for what was happening around them.

After all, there were nine of them ranged against Lucius Malfoy—ten, if they counted Aurelle in her hospital bed.  Could he keep all of them at bay, even with Salazara, who must on no account be risked further, as hostage?  Perhaps Lucius could be drawn into an argument and distracted long enough to let at least one of them catch him off guard.  

Octavius said, "I should have told Ivy to keep your wand, Lucius.  You're a public menace."

"I, Octavius?" Malfoy challenged him.  "Am I the one who lets Runespoors—which aren't legal pets, by the way—have the run of the hospital and threaten to bite people?  Am I the one who keeps leeches in his pockets?  Am I the one who snuck into the hospital under an Invisibility Cloak?"

"No, Lucius," Octavius acknowledged, "but you're the one who threatened to strike Aurelle Longbottom.  You're the one who involved your son in some underhanded plot against Harry Potter.  You're the one with your foot on Severus' wand.  And you appear to have Peter Pettigrew for a partner.  That will do to start with.  Shall I go on?"

"It makes no difference, Octavius," said Lucius.  He pointed his wand at Ron, who was trying to edge behind him, and said sharply, "Don't try anything, Weasley, or Miss Parkinson's familiar will be history."  Ron shrugged and stayed where he was.  

Luicus was not looking at Salazara as he spoke, and failed to notice that her right head was showing signs of recovering from the stunning spell.  She didn't stir, but her eyes moved on that side.  

"And then what, Lucius?" asked Professor Snape.  "You will have lost your main advantage, as I'm sure you realize."

"True, Severus," said Lucius thoughtfully.  "I suppose I could destroy it a third at a time."

"No," whispered Ivy.  

"What do you want, Mr. Malfoy?" asked Hermione reasonably.  "What will it take for you to let Ivy have Salazara back?"

"You seem to think I have some sinister design that I could be talked out of, when I am merely trying to restore some kind of order and control in this hospital.  I have no intention of returning this dangerous creature to an irresponsible student.  I plan to turn it over to the Ministry, where it will be properly disposed of."

Ivy twisted her hands together.

Neville opened his mouth and tried to speak, without success.  He licked dry lips and made another attempt.  "What if—what if I made you an offer, Mr. Malfoy?" 

"An offer, young Longbottom?" Lucius Malfoy repeated with amused scorn.  "What could you possibly offer that would interest me?"

"Me," croaked Neville.  

"You," remarked Lucius in disbelief.  "You.  What would I want with you?  Do you have any remarkable skills or knowledge or connections?"  

"No," said Neville, "but I'm worth something to my parents.  You could use me as a hostage, to buy their silence.  I've had some practise at that."

"He's really good at it," added Ivy.  

"Much better than a snake," Neville assured him.

"Ah, I begin to see what you're getting at," said Lucius.  "You think I'm the kind of monster who would deal in human flesh."  He shook his head at such foolishness.  

Harry could feel the room snap back into focus for Frank Longbottom.  "Neville," said Frank.  "Neville, what are you doing?"

"Dad, I just—" began Neville.  "I just want you to get well," he gulped.  

"And do you think I'd let my only son hand himself over to Lucius Malfoy for that?"

"Well, not really," Neville admitted.  "I just thought I'd mention it and see what happened."

"But you would really do it, wouldn't you?" Frank asked, and Neville nodded.  "It's the kind of thing your mother would do.  You're very like her, you know."

Neville's ploy had at least brought his father back to himself.  Frank looked at his son and said slowly, reluctantly, "There's something I think you need to know, Neville.  Something I've never told anyone.  I couldn't speak of it or even think of it."

"Dad, are you sure …?" Neville asked nervously.  

"Yes, Neville, I want you to understand as much as possible."  Frank turned to Pettigrew.  "What you did to my wife and child, Peter, is beyond abhorrent.  Worse than hideous."

"I never touched your son!" objected Pettigrew.  

"Peter," Lucius admonished.

"I'm not talking about Neville," Frank went on.  "When you came on your dreadful errand, Aurelle had been carrying our second child for three months."  Frank ground his teeth, and continued in a shaking voice,  "When you tortured her, she miscarried.  The last thing I saw as I was carried away was her blood on the floor. She could have died."  Frank turned back to Neville.  "Because of Pettigrew, your sister died unborn.  Aurelle had told me it was a girl.  Losing you as well doesn't bear thinking about, Neville."

"I knew that I was expecting a grandchild," murmured Lucretia Longbottom.  

"But that's awful," said Ivy.  Her tears, already close to the surface, spilled over.

"You're a rat, Peter Pettigrew," growled Frank.  "You're a rat through and through.  I can see right into your ratty soul."  Harry could, too, as the rat phantoms crowded into his vision again.  But Frank refused to lose himself in his rage, although Harry knew that he would have taken great pleasure in beating Pettigrew to a pulp.  Somehow the real Pettigrew wasn't even worth taking revenge on.

Aurelle had been quiet so long that Lucius had forgotten she was awake.    Now she sat up in bed.  "You didn't know, did you, Lucius?" she asked.  

Lucius turned to her in surprise.  "Aurelle, I—"

At that moment Salazara raised her right head and fastened her fangs lightly on Lucius' left wrist, right behind his grip on her middle neck.  Feeling the sudden prick, Lucius looked down and gave a start.  He raised his wand for another stupefying spell, but Octavius, stepping closer, caught the tip and held it.  "Now, Alastor," said Octavius urgently.  Young Crouch grasped Lucius' left arm and started prying his fingers off of Salazara.  Professor Snape gathered up the coils of the Runespoor and bore her to safety, but as her fangs released Lucius' wrist, they left a few long scratches.  Lucius, trying to wrench his wand away from Octavius and take Salazara back, lunged forward and caught his toe in the hole he had blasted in the floor.   He threw his arms out to break his fall, and lost his hold on his wand.  Ron and Harry kept a tight grip on Wormtail, to make sure he didn't try anything else.

Professor Snape handed Salazara, who was still two-thirds unconscious, over to Ivy, before retrieving his own wand and pocketing a small bottle which had fallen on the floor.  Ivy examined the Runespoor carefully, murmuring reassurances to her right head, and concluded, "I think she'll be all right."

"She'd better be," said Neville.

Lucius Malfoy picked himself up from his hands and knees, nursing his scratched wrist, his pale hair falling over his face and his chest heaving.  He looked murderous.  "You still insist … that Runespoors aren't dangerous?" he panted.  

 "They don't like being held up by the neck, Lucius," said Octavius mildly, "any more than you would.  Salazara could have bitten you outright instead of just scratching you, but she didn't.  She's more civilized than you are."  

"Still posing as the injured party, are you, Lucius?" said Professor Snape acidly, keeping his wand trained on Malfoy.  

"You're not going to give Mr. Malfoy his wand back this time, are you, Father?" asked Ivy.  

"Not today," said Octavius grimly, putting it into his robes.  "I think he's done enough damage for the time being.  I've already given him one chance too many."

"That's because you're more civilized than he is, too, Father."

"I suppose you expect me to stand here and be insulted, now that you've disarmed me, Octavius," said Lucius through tight lips, shaking back his hair.

 "Yes, Lucius, I do," said Octavius seriously.  "You may not be the kind of monster who would deal in human flesh, as you put it.  That would be too obvious.  But you do deal in human suffering."    

Professor Snape asked, "Do you have any idea what it's like to have a Curser in your mind, Lucius?  Do you?  It's not pleasant, I can assure you, because I've felt it through the Trempath, and that was bad enough, but nothing like what Longbottom has been through.  Do you know what it's like to have anything in your mind that doesn't belong there?"  

            Hermione took this as her cue.  She quietly sidled out of Lucius' line of sight, then pointed her wand at him and whispered, "_Phonoperpetuate!" without his noticing.  But in a few moments his brow furrowed and he raised his hands to his ears.  "What … ?" he asked in astonishment and growing annoyance.  "What _is _this?"  _

            "Does it sound like this?"  Neville hummed a few bars.  Lucius stared at him balefully and jerked his head in agreement.  "Oh, that's the Broken Record Spell, sir," Neville told him.  "I don't think I'll ever be able to forget that tune."

            "A corker, isn't it, Mr. Malfoy," said Ron happily.

            "This is an outrage," fumed Lucius Malfoy, still holding his ears.  "I insist that you stop it immediately, Severus." 

            "Do you?" remarked Professor Snape.   "All of these students put up with it for a full twenty-four hours as part of their training.  It's a highly educational exercise.  As a specialist in the case of the Longbottoms, Lucius, can you do less?"  Malfoy glared back without answering.  Professor Snape added, "More would be even better.  Ten years would be about right."

            "I refuse to submit to this kind of treatment!  I will notify the Ministry!" Lucius blustered.  

            "I suppose you'll tell them you can't get that tune out of your head," taunted Professor Snape.  "I will release you from the spell when you choose to explain your role in the torture of the Longbottoms, Lucius.  I think that's fair and fitting."

            "What absurdity is this?" Lucius asked contemptuously.  "My role?"

            "Lucius, your stubbornness astounds me," said Professor Snape.  "I know.  Octavius knows.  Pettigrew knows.  The Longbottoms know.  Why not give up and stop pretending you're so noble and innocent?"

            "Oddly enough, Severus, many wizards are inclined to take my word against yours," Lucius said smugly.  

            "I have had occasion to observe that fact," agreed Professor Snape.

            "Maybe that's because you're so good at sucking up to people and buying them off, Mr. Malfoy," Ron suggested.  

            "I think Wormtail might be able to tell us a few things," said Harry.  "Let's go back and start with him."  Pettigrew looked anxious; he saw that his reprieve had fallen through.  Harry and Ron still held him firmly.

            "Yes, indeed," said Ivy.  "Salazara still has the use of her right head, and the rest of her is bound to wake up soon."  

            "_I don't feel quite right_," Salazara's right head complained.  

            "I know you don't, dear.  Just do the best you can."

            "Salazara will know if you lie," Harry reminded Pettigrew.  Actually, he wasn't sure if this was true, with her middle head still out of commission.  But he forged ahead anyway.  "Admit it, Pettigrew.  You tortured the Longbottoms, didn't you?"

            Pettigrew was sweating and his face looked grey.  He looked from Salazara's right head to Ron's leech-filled left hand.  "It isn't fair," he whined.  "You already know what you want me to say."  

            "Damn right," said Frank Longbottom.  

            "If you refuse to answer, you get the leech treatment," said Ron.  "Wonderful how a touch of bloodletting can clear the head."  He moved his hand until the leeches were almost touching Pettigrew's arm.  

Pettigrew made a futile effort to shrink away, looking revolted.  With his back to the wall, figuratively speaking, he finally muttered almost inaudibly, "Lucius made me."  

Salazara's left head stirred and lifted, blinking.

            "I told you not to funk it, Peter," Lucius snapped.  "Well, that's a coerced confession if I ever heard one.  It would never hold up in a court of law.  Peter's a coward and a liar, and you can't believe anything he says, performing snakes notwithstanding."

            "Except when he's telling the truth," said Harry.  "That is the truth, isn't it?" he questioned Pettigrew.  "Lucius made you torture them."  Pettigrew gave a faint, frightened nod.

            "That is consistent with what I know," said Professor Snape.  "By the way, I believe you dropped this, Lucius," he added, holding up the potion bottle he had rescued from the floor.

            "That's the potion he was trying to make my Mum drink," said Neville.

            Lucius, pausing, appeared to be deciding whether to claim that he had never seen it before in his life.  "Merely a soothing draught," he finally said dismissively.  "Completely harmless.  Nothing to make such a fuss about."  He winced and looked down at his wrist.

            "A soothing draught, Lucius?" echoed Professor Snape.  "Perhaps you would like to demonstrate by taking a dose yourself.  You seem a bit tense."

            After giving Malfoy a few moments to reply to this, Hermione said, "If you'd rather not, Mr. Malfoy, we can test it.  I have a bottle of Clabbert pus with me."

            Lucius probably wished he had denied any knowledge of the potion after all.  He watched without a word as Professor Snape handed the potion bottle over to Hermione.  She unstoppered it, placed it on the table next to the empty bed, opened the pottle of Clabbert pus, and poured a single drop from the smaller bottle into the larger.  When she lifted her wand and chanted, "_Venomonstrate!" the flashing yellow beacon was unmistakably clear.  "Completely harmless … I don't think," was Professor Snape's verdict.  "Perhaps you weren't aware of all the ingredients it contained.  You always were a little shaky in the potions department."_

            "Are you licensed to carry around and administer controlled substances like that, Lucius?" asked Octavius.  "I think not."

            Malfoy shifted his head uneasily, as if worried by flies.  One of his eyelids twitched and he raised a hand to his ear again.  He appeared to come to a decision.  "So you want the truth, do you, Severus?" he asked.  

            "Better late than never," acquiesced Professor Snape.

            "The whole truth?" Malfoy looked significantly at Octavius, Ivy, and Neville.  "It might ba a bit more than you bargained for."

            "The whole truth, Lucius."  Professor Snape appeared to be bracing himself.

            "Very well then, Severus.  The whole truth.  And you'll …?" He gestured to his head.

            "I will remove the spell."

            Lucius turned to young Crouch.  "Barty, you made a mess of it.  You thought it would be quick and easy.  A few hits with the Cruciatus Curse and Frank would beg for mercy and tell you everything.  But it didn't work that way, did it?  Frank's an Auror, and they have to be tough.  You lost your nerve just when you should have taken a hard line."  He paused and glared at the Potions Master, raising his eyebrows.  

            "_Phonoterminate,_" said Professor Snape, his wand outstretched, and Lucius let out a breath of relief.

            "I talked Barty out of it myself, Lucius," said Aurelle from her bed.  "He still had enough humanity left for me to reach him."  Crouch's face stayed blank and unresponsive.

            "And you, Peter," Lucius went on.  "You saw the job through, but the results weren't quite what we hoped for, were they?  Your methods were messy and appallingly inefficient."  

            Pettigrew said in indignant self-defense, "I didn't torture Aurelle because I thought she knew anything.  I did it so that I could put my Curser in Frank Longbottom and keep him from giving us away.  It should have killed him years ago.  And I didn't know she was pregnant."

            "You're a fool, Peter."  Lucius shook his head, then addressed Professor Snape.  "Yes, you should have been the one, Severus.  You would have done a proper job of it, and so much suffering could have been avoided.  You had the right temperament for it, a way of intimidating people and bending them to your will that I always admired.  You had done excellent work for me in the past, Severus.  I asked you first for that very reason.  Such a waste."

            "Oh yes, you flattered me and offered me plenty of enticements," Severus Snape said thorugh his teeth.

"You considered my proposal very carefully."

"I told you it wouldn't work, Lucius," said Professor Snape disgustedly.  "It was an ill-conceived idea and I thought I had convinced you to drop it."

"When you refused, Severus," said Lucius, "you turned your back on what might have grown into a brilliant collaboration between the two of us.  Things were rather difficult for you after that, were they not?"  

            "If they were difficult, it was because of the penance that Severus took upon himself," said Octavius.  

            Ivy looked shaken.  "Is it true, Uncle Severus?  Were you—did you—Mr. Malfoy asked you to—?"

            "I never wanted you to know," her uncle told her bitterly.

            "But you didn't actually do it," she persisted.

            "He didn't do it, Ivy," Octavius assured her.  

            "Not the tiniest bit," said Aurelle.

            "And you knew, Father?"  

            "I've known for many years, Ivy," he told her gently.

            "And so have Aurelle and I," added Frank.  "Severus explained everything to me when we worked together."

            Lucius Malfoy actually looked a bit deflated.  He had clearly expected to shock more people with his racy revelations.

            "Professor Snape," said Harry.  

            "Yes, Potter."  

            "Hadn't you stopped working for the Dark side by then?"

            "Yes, Potter."  Snape forced himself to meet Harry's eyes as he said this.

            "Well—excuse me for asking—but why didn't you—"

            "Why didn't I turn Lucius Malfoy in, you were going to say?" Professor Snape asked with a sour laugh.  Harry nodded.  "Who would have believed me if I had?"

            "Yes, there's the little credibility problem," Lucius put in smoothly.  "Indeed, some of you may think that what I've told you today will change things.  But not one of you has the same standing at the Ministry of Magic as I have.  Certainly not you, Severus.  Not even you, Octavius.  You can tattle on me all you like, and it will make no difference."

            "Perhaps not while Cornelius Fudge is Minister," Octavius concurred.  "He is not even yet convinced of Voldemort's return."

            "No more than a wild rumour, Octavius," said Lucius.  "Completely unsubstantiated."  He drew his breath in sharply and cradled his wrist again.  

            "So much for the whole truth," shrugged Ron.  

            "But things might change if more people knew that Pettigrew is still alive," Hermione speculated.  "That's why you had to frame young Crouch, isn't it, Mr. Malfoy?"

            "And," Ron went on triumphantly, "that's why young Crouch turned your son Draco into a bouncing ferret last year, when he was pretending to be Professor Moody!"  He looked over at  Crouch's dead eyes.  "His finest moment.  He must have been really mad at you, Mr. Malfoy."

            Malfoy's face darkened at the mention of the ferret incident.  He looked as if he returned the feeling, with interest.            

            Salazara's middle head popped up, wide awake.  "_That's enough truth for now," she said._

            "_Time to get on with it_," added her left head.  Ivy translated.

            And Frank Longbottom began to shake again.

            "I won't leave you until it's over," Harry promised.

            "Nor I, my love," said Aurelle—not that she was likely to be going anywhere.  

            "I'm with you, Frank," said Lucretia.

            "Me, too, Dad," added Neville.

            Octavius walked over and stood at Frank's shoulder.  "I'm right behind you, Frank," he told the afflicted man.  Harry could feel Frank drawing strength from each declaration of support.  

            "And I'll keep an eye on this … riffraff," added Professor Snape, referring to Malfoy, Pettigrew, and young Crouch.  "Granger, Weasley, perhaps you would be willing to assist me."

            "Gladly," said Hermione.  

            "With pleasure," Ron said emphatically.  He still held Pettigrew by the arm and kept his handful of leeches at the ready.  

            "Do your stuff, Salazara," Ivy encouraged her Runespoor.

*************************

AN:  Yes, the next chapter actually contains the climax of this long, wordy, and convoluted story.  


	18. 17 The Auror's Ransom

AN:  Finally the story meanders to its climax … Thanks to Liedral and Cataclysmic for coming on board with encouraging words.  I have tinkered with this chapter a lot but agree with Leona da Quirm that it still needs an overhaul, though it has some basically sound elements.  I didn't mean to get quite so philosophical and, er, long-winded.  But I finally had to come clean and write as "me" instead of trying to fake Rowling.  

********************

**Chapter 17.****  The Auror's Ransom**

            Salazara dropped to the floor and positioned herself in front of Frank.  "_We will destroy the Curser," her three heads said together.  "We will destroy the Curser," Harry, Ivy, and Octavius translated in chorus.  And then, by no obvious agency, the colour of the walls began to change, from a pale institutional green through turquoise and royal blue to a rich dark purple.  The floor and ceiling assumed a matching shade.  When the transformation was complete, the  room's occupants and furnishings appeared to be floating in a purple void.  Against that featureless background, the ghostly Curser showed more clearly to Harry's eyes._

            "Whoa," whispered Ron.  "That's more like it."

"It would be a simple matter to accomplish the Curser's death by killing the host," observed Professor Snape, as if he had noticed no change, "but what you are trying to do is far more difficult."

"_Difficult, but possible when the host is strong enough.__  First the Curser must show his face," said Salazara's left head.  _

            Frank, linked to Harry through the Trempath, understood the Runespoor's speech.  "I've tried and tried," he said despondently.  "But I can't make him do it."       

Salazara's left head continued, "_The best person to reveal the Curser is the one who made it. But he must do it freely and willingly."_

            "Well, Peter," said Octavius.  "Will you take the first step in making amends?  Will you show Frank the Curser's face?"

            Pettigrew's eyes slid toward Lucius Malfoy, whose expression said clearly, _You'll_ be sorry if you do_.  First Pettigrew tried to duck the issue.  "It's not my fault.  Lucius is responsible.  It was his idea.  Let him do it."_

            "But it's your Curser, Peter," said Octavius.  "You know Lucius can't control it.  Only you."

            "But that—that snake thing—is going to kill it if I do," objected Pettigrew.

            "Excuse me?  That's the point," said Ron in exasperation.

            "But—but the Curser is my masterpiece," Pettigrew went on in a voice of self-pity.  "It's the greatest thing I ever made.  It has incredible power.  No, I can't let it be destroyed."

            "But you don't want anyone to see its face.  Why don't you just admit that you're afraid that killing it will hurt you, Peter?" said Professor Snape with contempt.  "You're not willing to face a hundredth part of the suffering and humiliation that you've visited on Frank Longbottom."

            Pettigrew refused to meet Snape's scowl, and refused to be shamed or goaded into cooperating.  He stared at the purple floor, his arms folded, content to have brought matters to a standstill.  

            "I suppose the application of a leech wouldn't do any good," said Ron regretfully.  "I've got half a mind to try it anyway, though," he added with more heat.  But if he hoped to make Pettigrew cringe again, he was disappointed.  Frustrated, Ron shouted, "Harry spared your worthless life, Wormtail!  I was there when he did it.  You owe him something for that.  If you keep acting like the rat you are I hope Harry changes his mind and kills you now!"  He stopped, realizing that a Gryffindor appeal to honour was equally useless.

After a short silence Harry said, "If Pettigrew won't agree, we could try asking the other Wormtail."

            "The other Wormtail?" repeated Lucretia Longbottom, baffled.

            "You mean the one in the map?" asked Hermione.  "Brilliant, Harry!  But would that work?  He's not the real Wormtail, and besides, he went into the map before the Curser was created.  Technically he's _not the maker."_

            "_Salazara, can the Wormtail in the Marauder's Map reveal the Curser's face_?" asked Ivy in Parseltongue.  

            "_I believe it is possible,_" Salazara's middle head replied.  "_The process will be somewhat more complicated_," added the right.

            "She says she thinks he can do it," Ivy reported.  

            "The real question is, will he?" said Lucius, clearly finding it improbable.

            "There's one way to find out," said Harry.  He placed the tip of his wand on the Marauder's Map.  "Wormtail, we need your help.  There's something important that only you can do for us." 

            A single word appeared on the map.  "_Me?" _

            "Yes, you, Wormtail," said Harry.  

            "_Something that Moony and Padfoot and Prongs can't do?_" 

            "That's right," said Harry.  "You're the only one who's fully qualified."

            "_Name it._"

            "The real Wormtail put his Curser in Frank Longbottom over ten years ago," Harry explained.  "We're trying to help Frank get rid of it.  The real Wormtail refuses to show us the Curser's face, but you can do it." 

            The map didn't respond for several seconds.  Finally, "_I don't think I understand," wrote Wormtail.  _

            "_I think you do understand,_" appeared in Moony's handwriting.  "_Your future self is going to do some despicable things, Wormtail.  This is your chance to make a start at redeeming yourself._"

            "_But it wasn't me,_" Wormtail objected.

            "_Do you want to stay in this map with us, Wormtail?_" asked Padfoot ominously.  "_Or do you want the rest of us to kick you out?"  
            "__Maybe we should kick him out anyway," Prongs suggested.  _

            "What would happen to him if they did kick him out?" asked Hermione.

            "I don't know," Harry answered.  "He'd probably just stop existing."

            "_It's your call, Prongs,_" wrote Moony.  _"Apparently he's done something rotten to you too."_

            "_I didn't do anything!  That Wormtail—that scum—isn't me!_" the Wormtail in the map protested his innocence.  As the conversation reached the bottom of the parchment, it continued starting at the top again, where the previous markings had gradually faded away.  __

            "He's not you as you are now, Peter," said Octavius,  "but he's you as you will become."

            Wormtail's words took on a desperate note, even in writing.  "_I won't, I tell you. I refuse to turn into anything so vile.  How could you think I would sink that low, Octavius?"_

            "The evidence is before my eyes."

            "_I can't help that.  I swear to you that I would never do such a horrible thing._"

            "But the deed is done.  It is too late to undo it."

 "_Frank, you believe me, don't you?  I wouldn't use you that way."_

Frank was silent for a long moment.  "I wish I could, Peter," he said at last.  "I believe you were driven by fear more than hatred.  But that doesn't come near excusing anything you've done."

Aurelle spoke up.  "The Wormtail in the map is completely sincere," she said.  "He is convinced that he's telling the truth.  He believes that he would not—will not—betray us."    
She turned to the real Pettigrew.  "Isn't that so, Peter?"

He looked back at her wordlessly, his eyes cold and sullen.  A muscle jumped in his jaw and his hands worked together.  

Neville looked shaken.  "That makes it even more horrible that he did do it."

Severus Snape looked down at the Marauder's Map.  "You don't want to be like me, do you, Peter?" he demanded harshly.  

Wormtail's words again appeared on the map.  "_Like you?  Slimy old Severus Snape?  What a horrid thought!_"    

"You admire Lucius Malfoy, don't you?"

"_He's a friend of mine,_" replied Wormtail in writing. 

"Pet rat experiments," muttered Ron.  

"But you wouldn't hang on his words, lick his boots, and sell your soul to prove your loyalty to him and win his favour, would you?"

"_Of course not, Severus.__  What do you take me for?"_

"Prove it, then," said Professor Snape.  "Make the Curser show his face."

No more words appeared on the map for a moment.  At length, "_Harry, why didn't you kill that horror that everyone thinks is me?"_

"So that you can prove that he's not you," said Harry, realizing the truth of it as he spoke.

 "_I just will, then,"__ Wormtail wrote defiantly.  "__I'll show you all."_

Lucius Malfoy raised an eyebrow.  "Well, well," he said, still skeptical.  "So this Wormtail takes a different turn, does he?  What do you think of that, Peter?" he addressed the real Pettigrew.  But his accomplice apparently couldn't quite take it in.  His eyes were studying the area between his feet again, and he looked as if he might be sick.

"_But I don't know how,_" wrote Wormtail-in-the-map.  

"_That is the chief difficulty_," said Salazara's right head.  "_The real Wormtail knows very well how to control his own Curser.  For you it will be less straightforward._"

"_If you need instruction I will give it to you,_" added her left.

As Harry repeated Salazara's words in English, he suddenly knew that the Curser saw what was happening and feared for its life (such as it was).  It gathered its forces and struck hard with the Cruciatus Curse.  Frank and Harry both staggered under the blast, and Aurelle hid her face, quivering.  Harry began the Opposition Verse, wondering frantically if he had enough reserves to hit the Curser with a good Drenching Spell.  But he needed his wand to communicate with the quartet in the Marauder's Map …

"_You know, I think I might be able to figure it out,_" mused Wormtail-in-the-map.  "_That robe doesn't look very well made.  If I could just find the right thread …_"   

            "It's true that I'm placed in an awkward position," murmured Harry and Frank together.  Harry felt a vibration in his wand, still touching the Marauder's Map, and then an extraordinary and rather tickly sensation, as if a ghostly rat were scampering up his wand arm, across his shoulders, and down the other arm to the Trempath.  

Suddenly the pain stopped.  Harry saw the Curser lower its wand and twist around, clutching the back of its robes.  A rat appeared at the neck of the Curser's garment.  "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" he asked of Frank.  

            Frank started to chuckle, watching Wormtail-from-the-map worrying at the seam that attached the Curser's hood to its robes.  The Curser tried in vain to catch the rat, but Wormtail was too quick for it, darting around, loosening threads and biting through knots.  The Curser put its wand away and tried with both hands, but it was too late.  The rat's sharp little teeth had pulled the right thread free, detaching the hood, which now became the object of a tug-of-war between the two phantoms, the Curser trying desperately to hold the hood over its face and the rat trying to pull it away.  

 "_I see you, Curser," said Salazara's middle head, the dreamer, the visionary of the three. "__You are about to be revealed.  If you try to escape by taking your animal form," she warned, "__it will go hard for you.  So beware."  And the Curser, also linked to Harry through the Trempath, understood.  Harry saw Wormtail-from-the-map sink his teeth into the Curser's hand, and the Curser finally let go of the hood and grasped its wounded hand with the other.  Harry felt the rat speeding back to the map the way it had come.  And the Curser, looking a bit more solid and substantial than before, lifted its face._

It was Pettigrew's face—and yet it wasn't.   It was Pettigrew made handsome, ruthless, majestic in his implacable cruelty: the chin stronger, the nose bolder, the eyes more compelling, the lips firm, every hint of weakness and cravenness removed.  It lifted its bleeding hand to its mouth as if about to suck it, then apparently decided that such behaviour would be beneath its dignity as a powerful force of evil.  Or maybe it simply couldn't; the face, now that Harry looked at it longer, was strangely immobile and wooden.

"I think I see something," said Ron tensely.  "Hard to say exactly what it is …"

"_The Curser has my face_," wrote Wormtail-in-the-map.  "_But that's impossible._"

"_You bet it's impossible,_" Prongs interjected.  "_You're not anywhere near that good-looking, Wormtail."_

"Can you see the Curser too, Prongs?" asked Harry.

"_Sure thing_," wrote Prongs.  "_Looks just as real to me as you do, Harry.__ Wormtail may wish he looked like that, but he doesn't quite make the grade."_

"_That can't be his real face,_" Wormtail-in-the-map decided.  

"It's not," said Frank.  "It is still only a mask."

"_The mask must be stripped away, then," _declared Wormtail-in-the-map.

"No!" cried the real Pettigrew.  "Not that!"  It was the first time he had spoken since the negotiation with his alter ego in the map had begun.  The Curser actually turned and gave him a withering look, and in a belated attempt to recover his lapse, Pettigrew added lamely, "I mean … there's no point … that is the Curser's real face."  

"_No it's not,_" wrote Wormtail-in-the-map.  "_It's just pretending to be me.  But I don't know how to get the mask off."_

"_You have  done your part, Wormtail_," said Salazara's middle head, and Harry translated.  "_What is needed now is the wand that unlocks dark secrets, and the potion that reveals things as they truly are._"  

Harry lifted his wand from the Marauder's Map.  He held it for a moment, thinking, and then he handed it to Frank Longbottom.  Frank took it, giving Harry a long look.  It was the first time Frank had held a wand in twelve years.  

"Gran, we need Professor Snape's potion,"  Harry whispered to Lucretia.  She took a bottle of Anti-Psychedelic potion out of her bag and opened it.  Lucius Malfoy opened his mouth, but didn't say anything.  

"Freshly brewed this week, Lucius," Professor Snape informed him.

            Frank held Harry's wand point down above the potion bottle, looking to Salazara for confirmation of what he was about to do.  Salazara nodded her left head, and Frank lowered the wand tip into the clear fluid.  When he lifted it out, the tiny scar on the tip glowed green. 

The Curser felt for its own wand again, but before it could attack, Frank reached out and touched the top of its forehead with Harry's wand.  A point of brilliant green-white light appeared at the point of contact, and Harry felt his scar give a single throb.  The Curser trembled, unable to move.  Its eyes flicked uneasily to Salazara, and it remained in its human form.  Harry could see the red-black charred circle where the wand tip had burnt a hole in the Curser's skin.  Slowly, delicately, Frank drew the wand down the middle of the Curser's finely modeled face, leaving an eye-searing green-white line.  The Curser's mask split in half along the line and vanished.  Under it appeared another face, a far different one, and yet similar.  All the qualities missing from the mask's features had become exaggerated.  The Curser  now looked even more ratlike and weaker-chinned than Pettigrew; its little eyes held naked fear and a childish, even infantile greed—a horrible eagerness to gorge itself on the suffering of its victim.  

The purple-velvet backdrop around them flushed a dark wine red.  Now, with its real face exposed, the Curser lost the last of its ghostly look and appeared solid and real to Harry and (presumably) the rest of those who had already been able to see it, including Salazara's middle head.  A collective gasp from the rest of the witnesses indicated that now they could see it too, even if not as clearly.  Frank handed Harry's wand back, and Harry placed its tip on the Marauder's Map again.

"_There, you see?  That's not MY face_," wrote Wormtail-in-the-map triumphantly.

"_I'm afraid it is, Wormtail,_" said Moony grimly.  

"_Maybe you're not quite that ugly,_" added Padfoot, "_yet. But there's a definite family resemblance._"

"_It looks at least as much like you as the mask did,_" remarked Prongs.

"_Surely not,_" said Wormtail in dismay.

Lucius Malfoy had been watching with folded arms and an opaque, noncommital face.  Now that he could see the Curser, he gave it a leisurely, appraising look, and then spared it a brief snort of derisive laughter.  "Good heavens, Peter, couldn't you do any better than that?  That's the most pitiful excuse for a Curser I've ever seen.  No wonder Frank is still alive.  That thing should try a career squashing bugs."

When the Curser realized that Lucius could see it, its face convulsed with shame and terror.  And the force of habit, fatally strong, led it down its usual avenue of escape: its robes collapsed and the rat appeared from beneath them, trying uselessly to get away.

            The Runespoor struck like lightning, and the phantom rat, now substantial enough to be caught, was suddenly writhing and squeaking frantically in the fang-jawed grip of Salazara's middle head.  Harry's scar blazed with pain, and he heard Frank's sharp intake of breath.  _You may think you can torture me into submission, And force me to realize your fondest ambition …_

            On a sudden impulse, Harry pressed the Trempath against Pettigrew's arm for a moment.  Pettigrew howled horribly, as if it were red-hot, and Harry could tell that Frank was thinking, _Now you know how it feels, you little skunk!  But revenge wasn't the important thing.  Harry lifted the Trempath and the howling sank to a whimper._

            Salazara's left head spoke.  "_Say the word, Frank Longbottom, and I will kill the Curser."_

            "No," sobbed Pettigrew.

            Frank clenched his hands and drew a breath, nerving himself.  "Do it," he said.

            Harry braced himself as well.  The serpent's jaws bore down.  As her fangs crushed the rat's spine, Frank, Aurelle, and Harry all screamed in unison, then gasped for breath as one.  At the moment of its death the creature vanished with a wet pop.  A brownish liquid ran out of Salazara's mouth and made a puddle on the floor, which was beginning to look like an orinary floor again.  The walls paled through orange and yellow and back to green.

            "Oh yes, that's the stuff," said Aurelle with a long sigh of satisfaction.  

            "Whoa," said Harry, with the back of his wand hand pressed to his scar.

            Frank's eyes opened wide.  "The Curser is gone!" he exclaimed, and then fainted away.  Octavius caught him as he fell, picked him up with ease, and laid him on the empty bed.  

            "Dad!" cried Neville.  "Is he all right?" he asked Octavius.

            "He will be," Aurelle said with certainty.

            "He's alive," said Harry, still holding the Trempath.  "I can feel him dreaming."

            "We must not try to wake him," said Octavius.  "The shock might well have killed him."

            "Especially if it hadn't been for young Harry," Lucretia reminded him, taking a seat next to her unconscious son.

            A horrible stench rose from the puddle (which seemed to be quite real) that was all that remained of the Curser, so stomach-turning that it reminded Harry of the Sickening Potion.  Salazara opened and closed the jaws of her middle head.  "_That tasted awful," said her right.  She glided over to Ivy, who bent down and held her arms out.  _

"Salazara, you did it," Ivy exclaimed as the Runespoor wound herself around her companion.  "I'm so proud of you."  

            Harry found his wand moving back to the Marauder's Map, drawn there like a magnet.

            "_Are you going to let me stay?_" asked Wormtail in a trembling hand.

            "_You did a good thing today, Wormtail,_" said Padfoot.  "_I think we will let you stay on, but only under certain conditions._"

            "_Yes,_" agreed Moony.  "_For one thing, you have to rewrite the second line of the Sprinkling Can verse so it rhymes with 'submarine.'"_

            "_You know I'm no good at writing poetry,_" complained Wormtail-in-the-map.

            "_No he doesn't,_" objected Prongs.  "_It works fine the way it is, even if it doesn't measure up to your literary standards, Moony.  But I think he needs some kind of disciplinary probation."  _

            "_We'll think about it and get back to you, Wormtail,_" said Padfoot.  "_Consider yourself lucky to get a reprieve._"  

            "Mr. Snape," said Hermione, "Could you answer some questions for me?  There are a few things I find puzzling."

            "Gladly, Miss Granger," said Octavius.

            "Why did you call Barty Crouch 'Alastor'?  That's Mad-Eye Moody's name."

            "I noticed that too," said Harry.  

            "That's not difficult to explain," said Octavius.  "What do you know about the last year of Crouch's life before his soul was taken?"  

            "He spent most of it—the last nine months—disguised as Moody," said Harry.

            "Exactly.  He used the Polyjuice Potion to take on Moody's appearance, using Moody's hair, and he was constantly speaking and acting like Moody.  He did a convincing job, didn't he?"

            "Well, we didn't exactly know him before," said Ron, "but all the teachers at Hogwarts and everyone at the Ministry of Magic seemed to be completely taken in."

            "He may have absorbed more of Moody's character and thinking than he realized," Octavius continued, "and when the dementor took his soul, what was left might have been just as much Moody as Crouch.  Let me show you."  Octavius looked around, and not finding what he sought, pointed his wand through the bathroom door and said, "_Accio mirror!"  The next moment he had a large shaving mirror in his hand, and he held it up in front of Crouch.  Harry could see Crouch's face reflected in the mirror, and the eyes were alive and aware.  Octavius addressed Crouch's reflection with the words, "Nicely done, Alastor.  Thank you," and suddenly the face in the mirror was Mad-Eye Moody's, giving Octavius a nod and a grim smile, as if to say, _Any___ time.  After a moment, Moody vanished and Crouch's face reappeared.  "Part of Moody's spirit is inhabiting Crouch's body," said Octavius.  "Neither of them intended it, but it's not a surprising development."_

            Harry had once taken Polyjuice Potion to assume the appearance of Gregory Goyle.  He pushed away the thought of Goyle's consciousness invading his body.  "But Crouch is there as well," he said.  "I can see him."

            "I can account for that too," said Octavius.  "You see, dementors have no mirror reflection.  Neither does the shade or phantom of anything evil.  You would not have been able to see the Curser in reflected in a mirror."

            "So when a dementor Kisses someone," said Hermione, "it takes his soul, but leaves the mirror-soul behind!"  

            "What I'm seeing is Crouch's mirror-soul, then," said Harry.  Octavius nodded.

            "Let me see," said Aurelle.  "Show me Barty Crouch's face in the mirror."

            Octavius hesitated, as if listening.  "Something tells me that it might not be wise, after all you've been through, Aurelle.  I have a bad feeling."

            "I must see him, Octavius," she insisted.  

            "Why, Aurelle?" 

            "Because of what I know about him."

            Ivy conferred with Salazara for a moment, very quietly.   Then she approached her father, plucked the mirror from his hand, and handed it to Aurelle, who held it up so that she could see Crouch's face reflected in it.  When their eyes met, a shiver ran through her.  "My death … " she whispered.  "I see my death in Barty's face."

            "I was afraid of this," murmured Octavius.

            "I'm sorry, Father," Ivy told him, "but you were just delaying the inevitable.  You can't cheat destiny."

            "What, is he going to murder you?" Ron demanded of Aurelle.  

            "No, nothing like that," she answered.  She studied Crouch's reflection for a a long moment.  Evidently she saw a question in his face, for she nodded her head.  Something changed in her eyes, and at the same time Harry felt a shift in Frank's sleeping mind through the Trempath.  Again he felt a presence pass through him, but this one felt icy cold and clammy.  It made him think of the effect the dementors had on him.

            More words appeared on the Marauder's Map.  

            "_What IS this?!_" demanded Padfoot.  

            "_Whatever it is, it doesn't belong here,_" said Moony.

            "_It's all yours, Wormtail,_" said Prongs.  

            "_But I don't want it_," exclaimed Wormtail.  "_It feels so … so slimy. Llike a dish of tapioca, without the dish.  I hate tapioca._"

            "_Too bad,_" said Padfoot.  

            "Is it Barty Crouch's mirror-soul?" asked Harry.  

            "_I suppose it must be,_" admitted Wormtail.  "_I think he wants to say something._"

            But nothing more appeared on the map.  

            "_Try turning the map over,_" suggested Moony.  Harry did so, and words started appearing in a different, rather staggery handwriting, and backwards to boot.  Hermione read them aloud.

            "_AURELLE YOU KNOW I DIDNT DO IT WELL NOT MUCH.  YOU TOLD ME TO STOP AND I DID.  FRANK WAS STILL OK AND I NEVER TOUCHED YOU DID __I._ ITS NOT MY FAULT WHY SHOULD WORMTAIL GET OFF SCOT FREE BOTH OF HIM WHEN I HAVE TO SUFFER FOR WHAT HE DID.  THERES NOT MUCH TIME LEFT YOU HAVE TO HELP ME AURELLE NO ONE ELSE WILL._"  _

            During the stunned silence that followed, Harry felt Barty Crouch's tapioca mirror-soul ooze through him again and appear for a moment as a fog in Aurelle's eyes.  As soon as it had cleared from her face and returned to Crouch's reflection she turned to Octavius.  "You've developed a method of reversing the Dementor's Kiss, haven't you, Octavius?  It only works at the expense of a life willingly given, doesn't it?"

            Octavius looked at her sadly, helplessly.  "That is my theory," he said at last.  "I haven't yet tested it.  But it's not your task, Aurelle."

            "I'm afraid it is, Octavius," she contradicted him.  "Barty has asked me to help him."  

            "He didn't ask, he ordered you to help him," said Lucretia indignantly.  

"And you are under absolutely no obligation …" Octavius began.  Then, very quietly, he added, "You made a deal with him, didn't you, Aurelle?"

            She nodded without a word.  

            "What exactly did you promise?" Octavius asked.

            "Not to give my life to save him, if that's what you're wondering, Octavius," she told him.  "Only to stand by him if he were ever unfairly treated.  The kind of promise anyone would make."

            "Any Hufflepuff, anyway," put in Neville.

            Salazara's middle head spoke up.  "_Aurelle speaks the truth.  She is the Auror's Ransom._"  Harry translated.

            "I've never known Salazara to be wrong about such things," said Ivy.  "It must be fated."

            "Rubbish," said Ron scathingly.  "Just another self-fulfilling prophecy.  Can't you see that it's circular reasoning?"

"But this isn't the first time I've had a premonition of death," Aurelle went on.  "A few days before Pettigrew came, I had a dream about a little girl.  I know it was our unborn daughter.  She told me she wouldn't be able to stay with us, and had to say goodbye.  And now I find that I will have to, too."

"Frank will never allow it," said Lucretia.  

"But I will allow it," said Frank.  He had awakened, unnoticed by everyone but Harry.  

Even Lucretia had missed seeing his eyes open.  She looked at him in bewilderment.  "You weren't about to allow your son to throw his life away, Frank," she argued.  

"That was quite different.  Neville is still a child, though he won't be for much longer,"  answered Frank.  "And Aurelle isn't doing this for me.  She's doing because of Barty's desperate need, and because it's right and just.  Because what she is, and what I must allow her to be, is a life-giver."  Frank looked over at Aurelle and said, "You know I would do this myself if I could, don't you, my dear?"

"I know, Frank," she told him.  

"Aurelle, how can you leave Frank when you know he still needs you?" Lucretia asked sorrowfully.

"No need to get tragic, Mother," said Frank gently.

"Oh, I won't be leaving Frank," said Aurelle confidently.  "Death can't separate us."

"What about your son?" Octavius ventured to ask.

            "Don't worry about me, Mum," said Neville.  "You do what you have to do."

            "I've got a pair of Gryffindors backing me up," said Aurelle, taking Neville's hand.

            "Just remember, Aurelle, I haven't agreed to this yet," said Octavius sternly, "and I have a say in how my research will be used."

            "I know, Octavius," she said, smiling at him.  "You probably hope I'm still delusional, but that's over now."

            "So," said Lucius Malfoy.  "Saint Potter casts out demons and heals the sick … but it didn't turn out quite the way you planned, did it?"  And Pettigrew, who had stood dumb as a post after the Curser was destroyed, allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.

            Harry shrugged.  "I didn't know what would happen," he said.  "Anyway, it wasn't me, it was Salazara."

            "Harry," said Frank.  "Let me have the Trempath.  You've kept it too long."  

            Harry had to agree.  It had been a gruelling session.  He went to Frank's bed and handed the Trempath over.  "Thank you, Harry," said Frank.  "Your job is finished.  And Ivy, Octavius, Severus, Neville, Ron, and Hermione, our thanks to you all; and most especially to Salazara."  Ivy brought her Runespoor over to Frank so that he could touch her.  She slid onto the bed and regarded Frank with her three heads.  "_It is an honour to serve you, Frank Longbottom," they said together.  "__You will soon be well."_

            Someone pounded briskly on the door.  "My Anti-Interruption spell must be wearing off," said Octavius.  He opened the door and the Matron strode in, shouting,  "What on earth is going on in here?"  Nurse Colleen, behind her, peeked in the door with wide, scared eyes, and then vanished.   

The Matron caught sight of Ivy and Hermione, alias Iris and Hortense, and added, "What are you girls doing here?  I've been looking for you.  You finished making those beds by magic, didn't you?"

            "Yes, Matron," Ivy whispered.  "I'm frightfully sorry."

            "I can tell the difference, you know," the Matron said frostily.  "We do it without magic for very important reasons, which I shouldn't have to repeat.  It was all covered in your orientation."

            "We must have missed that part," Ivy squeaked, her eyes enormous.

            The Matron recognized Ron too.  "You promised to keep an eye on these young ladies!"

            "Well, I—" started Ron.

            "It was my fault, Matron," Hemione broke in.  "I used my wand to finish off the beds —we were in a bit of a hurry.  But you might want to check the beds in Room 228.  We really surpassed ourselves on those."

            "But I didn't ask you to make those beds," the Matron said in a puzzled voice.  Then she  caught sight of Salazara.  "Who is the owner of that snake?  Snakes aren't allowed at St. Mungo's."

            Lucius Malfoy pointed at Ivy.  "It belongs to that child.  She brought it in here."

            "That's right, blame everything on Ivy," said Ron angrily.  

            "Your name's not Iris?" the Matron asked, distracted for a moment.  

            "Well, not exactly," said Ivy.  "My grandmother's was, though."

            "And what are you doing here, Lucius Malfoy?" the Matron pursued, her hands on her hips.  "I thought I told you you couldn't just waltz in here whenever the notion took your fancy."

She looked around again and realized that the two Longbottom patients were both awake and apparently rational.  "Octavius, perhaps you can explain what's been happening in this room.  Is everything quite all right?"  

            "Things are going as well as can be expected," returned Octavius, looking a bit shaken.  "It's a long story.  I assure you I'll submit a full report."

            "And _what's that dreadful smell!?"  _

            "A Curser has met its death in this room," said Ivy solemnly.  She pointed to the puddle.

            "That should be cleaned up immediately," declared the Matron, "and that hole repaired." She studied the room once more, and a pucker appeared between her eyebrows.  "Have these walls been repainted recently?"

            "You have no idea," murmured Octavius, much to Ron's amusement.

            "Matron, Aurelle and I would like to be alone for a while," said Frank. "There are things we need to talk about."

            "I'll take this crowd over to Bungo's for a little refreshment," said Octavius.  "You're not invited, Lucius.  But you're welcome to join us, Severus."  

            "It's late," said Professor Snape.  "I think I'll be getting back to Hogwarts, Octavius."

            "As you wish, Severus," said Octavius with a smile.

            "What about Pettigrew and Crouch?  They're not invited, are they?" asked Ron.  He was still holding Pettigrew at leechpoint.  

            "I should think not," said Lucretia.  

            "Matron, perhaps I can prevail upon you to keep these two in custody for a short time," said Octavius.  "Crouch has escaped from Azkaban and he's missing his soul, and Pettigrew is an Animagus, so you must take great care that he doesn't escape as a rat."  

            "I thought they were both dead," said the Matron rather blankly.  

            "It would be easier if they were, wouldn't it?" said Professor Snape drily.  "Perhaps it can be arranged."  He scowled at them both.  

            The Matron frowned thoughtfully.  "Perhaps I could put a security detail on it …" Her face cleared.  "I know!  I'll send them over to Madam Nightingale for counseling.  She can handle them."

            "Madam Nightingale is a good soul," said Octavius.  "A bit narrow, a bit inclined to see everything in terms of her profession … but always ready to help.  She let me take a short cut through her clinic when I went to get Severus at Hogwarts.  I can escort other people into and out of paintings with me."

            "A most interesting experience," said Professor Snape.

            "And Mr. Malfoy can join her Death Eaters Anonymous group," said Hermione.  

            "An excellent plan," said the Matron.  "After Malfoy, Crouch, and Pettigrew clean up the mess, they can go down to the quiet lounge."  

            Malfoy looked scandalized. "I?  Clean the floor?"

            "I will supervise the operation," said Professor Snape, "and take them to their counseling session before I leave." He trained his wand on Malfoy.  "You have a choice, Lucius.  You can help clean the floor, or you can have another round of the Broken Record Spell, or perhaps a taste of the Tickling Charm.  Or possibly a leech would be more to your liking?"  Lucius glared back, his lips compressed.  Professor Snape looked over at his brother and added, "Actually, Octavius, if you could accompany our little group to see Madam Nightingale, it would be—even better."  

            "I think I take your meaning, Severus," said Octavius, looking significantly back at him.  "I will be at your service as soon as I've done a short errand …   I shall meet the rest of you at Bungo's Tea Shop," he told the students, and left the room quickly.

            "But isn't it closed at this hour?" asked Neville.

            "I'll take you there," said Lucretia Longbottom.  "The owner knows me.  I'll make sure he lets us in."

            Before they left, Ron gave his leech to the mute Crouch with instructions for Moody, who seemed happy to take over threatening Pettigrew with it, and Harry handed the Marauder's Map over to Aurelle.  "You might need this," he said.  

            "Thank you, Harry," said Aurelle as she received it.  "I'll try to make sure it's returned to you when I'm finished with it."

            "If there's anything left of it by then," he added a bit wistfully.  He placed his wand tip on it one last time.

            "_I've got it,_" said Prongs.  "_We'll make Wormtail eat a dish of tapioca every day."_

            "_Wonderful for the digestion_," agreed Moony.

********************

AN:  Will be traveling for a few days but will come back next week to post final chapters and epilogue.  Am behind on courtesy reviewing but will catch up.  Kyntor, I am reading one of your favorites and enjoying it (Never Alone, Never Again).  Twice as long as mine!  Watch for HP and the Portrait Studio, coming soon.  --ILL


	19. 18 Biscuits at Bungo's

AN:  Just got back from TorontoTrek day before yesterday, where I went with a friend who used to live in the area, and was completely STUNNED at all the reviews!  Thank you all for your friendly interest; I intend to repay it in kind, but it will take a while, esp. since I will be leaving again soon for a rustic family church camp experience.  Yes, I know that Voldemort is conspicuous by his absence, but you see this started out as a short story many moons ago and spun completely out of control.  

******************

**Chapter 18.****  Biscuits at Bungo's**

            As soon as Lucretia Longbottom and the five Hogwarts students had left the room (Lucretia had kissed her son and daughter-in-law in an emotional farewell), Ivy said, "Mrs. Longbottom, would you mind meeting us downstairs at the front entrance?  There's one thing we still need to do."  Neville's Gran agreed to this, although somewhat suspiciously, and after she had left Ivy continued in a lower voice, "Father and Uncle Severus are up to something, I can tell.  I have an idea what it is, and I want to see if I'm right.  Let's go down to Madam Nightingale's lounge."  

            Harry and Neville hid themselves under the cloak once more, and with the help of the floor plan they found the quiet lounge on the first floor where Madam Nightingale had surprised them.  A closet was conveniently located across the corridor, and the five of them (six if you counted Salazara) stepped in and closed the door.

            "Why don't you just ask Salazara if you're right?" asked Ron.  

            "No, I never ask her to help me find out Father's secrets," said Ivy.  "I assume that if I can figure them out for myself, I'm meant to know them.  Otherwise not."  

            Ron shook his head, not for the first time, at her peculiar Slytherin code of ethics.  

            "So, Ron, what else have you been putting in your pockets lately besides leeches?" Ivy asked him casually.  Ron sheepishly produced not one, not two, but three pocket-sized occultoscopic crystals, pilfered from the examining room.  "Thought they might come in handy," he muttered.  

            "Just what we need," said Ivy delightedly.  She placed one against the closet door and began adjusting the dial at the side.  Soon all of them were peering through the door and the wall next to it, two to a crystal.  It wasn't long before they saw the door to the quiet lounge open and Octavius emerge into the empty corridor with a large roll of canvas under his arm.  Standing before a blank area of wall to the left of the door, he unrolled the canvas and held it against the wall so that the bottom of it just touched the floor.  It was the same size and shape as a door, and in fact was painted to look like one.  Octavius touched each of the four corners of the canvas with his wand, muttering the word "_Affixum!" each time.  Then he took something from his robes and screwed it into one side of the canvas at a height of about three feet.  It was a doorknob.  The canvas now looked exactly like a real door in the wall.  Lastly he pointed his wand at the real door to the lounge and said, "__Obliviate," making it disappear._

            Then he knocked quietly on the closet door and said, "I will see you shortly, Ivy."  

            "Yes, Father," said Ivy.

            "Occultoscopic crystal leaves a visible trace when it's in use, you know," Octavius told her through the door.  "Easy to miss if you're not looking for it."

            "Yes, Father," said Ivy again.  She removed the crystal she and Hermione had been using from the door and handed it back to Ron.  He pocketed all three of them and said, "Not easy to fool, is he?"

            Ivy shrugged.  "Oh, we're on a pretty even footing these days.  We know each other so well.  Besides, wasn't it pretty obvious that he wanted someone to notice something?"

            "It was, actually," said Harry.  

            "What did Mr. Snape do that for?" asked Neville.

            "I think we're going to find out quite soon," said Hermione.

            The closet where Ivy, Ron, and Hermione had assumed their disguises soon had its full complement of uniforms back in place.  However, nobody remarked on the fact that Ron and Hermione forgot to return their other borrowings to the examining rooms they had come from.  As far as Harry knew, Ron still carried a pocketful of leeches, minus only the one he had handed to Crouch.  They presented themselves to Neville's Gran at the front entrance, looking innocent.

            At the door of Bungo's, Lucretia banged the parrot-headed knocker until it woke up, yawned, ruffled its feathers, and let them in, grumbling, "It's the middle of the blooming night, but seeing as it's you, Mrs. Longbottom, and seeing you're willing to pay extra for the privilege." 

            "Don't worry about that," said Lucretia.  "I've got my son back and I feel rich."  She rummaged in her large red handbag and offered the parrot a silver Sickle, which it took eagerly in its beak.  

            A minute later, Lucretia, Neville, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ivy had seated themselves around one of the round tables.  The owner of the shop appeared, rubbing his eyes and carrying a candle, and said, "Bungo let you in, did he, Mrs. L?  What's up, then?  And who's this lot?  I knows your grandson, but not the rest."  

            "Bob, I'll wager you've never met Harry Potter before," said Lucretia triumphantly, and Bob's eyes widened in surprise.  

            "No more I have.  You must be him," he said, looking at Harry.  

            "Got it on the first try," said Harry.  He introduced his schoolmates.

            "These young people," explained Lucretia, "have been helping my son Frank and his wife Aurelle get their sanity back, and tonight they have completed their mission.  We're here to celebrate.  Tea and biscuits for everyone."

            "Not really?  Mr. Frank's better, after all this time?  And Mrs. Frank too?  Well, I'm that glad to hear it.  Tea's on the house."  Bob put down his candle, tied on his apron and hurried behind the counter.  

            "But that parrot on the door said we had to pay extra," said Ron.  

            "Don't listen to him," scoffed Bob.  "He just likes to fleece the customers every chance he gets.  You've certainly given me enough business, Mrs. L, to let me have the pleasure of doing you a favour."  He stopped in the middle of filling the teakettle.  "Say, young Weasley, I think I remember hearing your voice earlier today.  Are you the one who said 'Nobody' when I asked who was there?"

            Ron turned red.  "It was him all right," said Hermione.  "We came through your shop by Floo powder so we could sneak into the hospital.  I hope we didn't put you out."

            "Just warn me first next time.  Send an owl."

            "Octavius Snape will be joining us in a few minutes," said Lucretia.  

            "Any friend of yours is welcome, Mrs. L," said Bob, reaching down some biscuit tins and putting them on the counter.  He started arranging an assortment on a plate, but Ron said, "Don't fuss with them, I'm too hungry to wait."  He stood up, brought two of the tins to the table, and started helping himself from them.  He held out one to Hermione and said, "Here, want some?  Try the chocolate ones."  

            "Ron," said Hermione, "there's no need to be rude and uncivilized."

            "But I'm starving," said Ron with his mouth full.  "You try keeping Wormtail from turning into a rat for hours on end and see if it doesn't give you an appetite."

            In a few minutes they heard Octavius Snape at the door, saying something to the parrot.  "Don't let him take your money," called Bob.  "Come right in.  Bungo, that's enough."

            Octavius came in and joined them at the table, sitting down next to his daughter.  "Father, you look done up.  What have you been doing?" Ivy asked him solicitously.

            "Surely you can guess, Ivy," he said.    

            "Well," said Bob, putting a plate of buttered toast on the table, alongside the teapot and an apple pie, "You most likely have things to talk about, so I'll leave you to it.  If you need anything I'll be in the back."  

            "Thank you, Bob," said Lucretia.  "You're very kind."  She picked up the teapot and poured a cup for Octavius.  "I suppose everything's tidied up for now?"  she asked him.  "You left Lucius, Peter, and Barty with Madam Nightingale, and she'll keep them …?"

            Ivy began to giggle, which set Hermione off too.

            "I expect they're quite safe," said Harry, and took a bite of toast.  He had felt rather empty himself, though almost too tired to eat, but the food was beginning to revive him.

            "Quite safe," Octavius assured them all with the mocking, secretive smile often seen on Ivy's face.  He added a wedge of lemon to his tea and sipped it, leaning back in his chair.  "A most eventful evening.  A most fascinating process, which I feel fortunate to have witnessed." 

            "I don't know what we would have done without you there, Father," sighed Ivy, leaning against him.  

            "You were all doing quite well when Severus and I arrived," said her father.

            "You should have seen Neville hitting Lucius Malfoy with the Tickling Charm," said Ron.  "Absolutely ripping."  

            "Dumbledore has kept me up to date on what you've been doing these past months, and Severus has just been filling me in on your tutoring sessions," Octavius went on.  "I must congratulate all of you on a remarkable accomplishment.  You succeeded against all odds."

            "Salazara too," said Ivy, stroking the Runespoor through her robes.  

            "Salazara too," agreed Octavius.  

            "I'm glad you let me bring her to Hogwarts, Father."

            "So am I, Ivy," said Octavius.  "Mr. Potter, I was quite interested to observe for myself how effectively you used the Trempath."  Harry felt himself blushing, but Octavius added, "Your wand's unusual powers may have helped you fight the Curser from the beginning."  

            Harry took out his wand and looked at it.  "I had no idea that the scar made any difference in what I could do with it until today."  He wondered if that might explain, on some level, why he had felt so devastated at the thought that it was broken.

            "The scar on your head makes a difference," said Ron.  "Isn't that why you can speak Parseltongue?"

            "I hope it is," said Harry.  

            "I didn't know what I was risking," Ivy exclaimed.

            "You did the right thing, Ivy," Neville assured her. 

            "Mr. Snape, have you ever been a Trempath partner?" asked Hermione.  

            "I have, with other patients who were not as ill as Frank Longbottom," replied Octavius.

            "But never with Frank himself?" she pursued.

            Octavius was silent for a moment, looking down at his teacup with a closed face.  One of his hands clenched suddenly, then relaxed.  "I offered my services," he said, "but they were refused."  He looked up again, his expression very Snape-like.  "After Severus made his attempt, which was considered a failure, and almost died, I went to see Frank.  I begged him to let me take the Trempath, but he would not give it to me.  He was adamant, though I was quite pressing.  I was sure I could succeed where others had failed, if only I were allowed to make the trial.  I believed that I sincerely wanted to help him.  I stopped just short of trying to take the Trempath from him by force."  

            "Professor Dumbledore told me that Frank refused to let anyone take it for a long time.  Years and years," said Harry.  

            Octavius nodded.  "Yes, after what happened to Severus," he said.  "Frank has always been a man of great—" he broke off.  "He was right, of course, not to give it to me."

            Nobody ventured to question him further on that subject.  During the pause that followed, Harry became aware of a muffled voice shouting (or trying to shout), "Octavius!  Octavius, I insist on speaking to you this instant."  It seemed to be coming from somewhere on Octavius' person.  He raised his eyebrows, reached into his robes, and drew out a rolled canvas, much smaller than the one he had stuck to the wall at St. Mungo's.  "One moment, Lucius," he said to the canvas.  He unrolled it and spread it flat on the table, arranging cups and plates to hold down the corners.  "What can I do for you?" he asked.  Leaning forward to look, the rest of them could see that Lucius Malfoy was looking out at them from a painting of a rustic footbridge over a stream on the edge of a wood, and he looked absolutely furious.  

            "You know very well what you _must do for me, Octavius," he fumed.  "You've tricked me and trapped me here with those unspeakable scum and that smarmy woman."  Looking carefully through the trees, Harry made out a building in the background of the painting that must be Madam Nightingale's clinic._

            "Yes, Alice Nightingale can be a bit hard to take in large doses," Octavius sympathized.  

            "Lucius, how on earth did you get in there?" asked Lucretia.

            "Sheer underhanded duplicity, Madam," he huffed.  "Octavius shoved me and the others through an ordinary-looking door and neglected to mention that it was a painted one.  He took Severus back out with him and left me in this … this group meeting!"  

Lucius paused to glare at Octavius.  Ivy started giggling again and Ron gave a snort.  "When I attempted to step outside for a moment, I found that the door had vanished and I couldn't leave.  Barty can talk now and he won't stop whining about how ill-used he is.  I'm sick of listening to him.  And when Pettigrew tried to turn himself into a rat and realized he couldn't do it, he went to pieces.  Nightingale told him he wasn't allowed to, anyway.  Something about 'ground rules.'  She stepped out of her frame—apparently it was a fake—and informed us, if you please, that we were all in her painting and we would stay there until we admitted that our lives were unmanageable.  What claptrap!  I told her I had to speak to Octavius immediately, and she directed me here."  

He turned his attention back to the object of his ire.  "You may think you've been terribly clever, Octavius.  But if you refuse to release me from this appalling situation I will find my way to a painting at the Ministry and bring your misconduct to the attention of the proper officials."

            "You may think you can paint me into submission," muttered Ron, and Harry covered his own mouth to keep from spraying biscuit crumbs everywhere.

            "You may think you can paint me into a corner," he whispered back as soon as he had swallowed his mouthful.  

            "Good luck with that plan, Lucius," said Octavius, "but as far as I know I haven't done anything illegal."

            "When I'm finished with you, it will be," said Lucius waspishly.  "You've duped me and taken unfair advantage of me and I won't stand for it.  And you still haven't returned my wand!"

            "All in good time.  You did hear me say that I could escort people in and out of paintings, did you not, Lucius?"  

            "Of course, but I had no idea you were about to escort me into one and not of it!"  

            "Ivy caught on quickly enough," Octavius pointed out.

            "That proves nothing.  She's your spawn and she thinks in the same twisted way you do."

            "Why, thank you, Mr. Malfoy," murmured Ivy, looking at him through her lashes.    

            "If it makes you feel any better, Lucius, I've never tried the one-way ticket approach before.  We'll see how it works out.  Consider yourself part of a ground-breaking experiment."

"I'm a busy man.  I don't have time for this, and you'll end up regretting it, mark my words."  Lucius turned around and started walking back to the clinic, his figure growing smaller in the picture as they watched.  The rickety bridge swayed and shook as he stormed over it, and Ron mouthed, "Fall in!  Fall in!"  But the bridge held up and Lucius made it across the stream without mishap.  Octavius rolled up the canvas again and tucked it back in his robes.  

"That's right, you did mention the part about helping people in and out of paintings," recalled Hermione.  

"Father doesn't spring things on people without dropping a few hints first," said Ivy.  

"Like the short errand he had to do," put in Harry.  

"Exactly," said Octavius.  "I try to give them a sporting chance."

"And so does Ivy," added Neville loyally.

"Funny that Lucius Malfoy of all people should accuse you and Ivy of twisted thinking, Mr. Snape," said Ron.  

"He's just jealous," Hermione declared.  "He wishes he could do it half as well."

"He said that Barty Crouch could talk again," remembered Harry.  "I suppose that's because he's in the painted world now."

"I rather suspected that possibility," said Octavius.  "In a painting, as in his reflection and in the Marauder's Map, his mirror-soul becomes operative again.  Assuming he didn't die first, which was another thing that might have happened."  

"Mr. Snape," said Hermione, "would you mind telling us about your research on the Dementor's Kiss?  And how you knew about Barty Crouch?"

"Since the cat is already out of the bag, as you might say, Miss Granger?" Octavius asked her wryly.  Ivy looked down and stirred her tea very carefully, her cheeks pinker than usual.  

"Yes," said Hermione.  "I think Neville has the right to know."

"Well, I don't really—" started Neville.

"Very well," said Octavius.  "You've all earned the right to hear the whole story.  Ever since I was a student at Hogwarts, when I first found out what the Dementor's Kiss was, it seemed the ultimate horror to me, and I refused to believe that it was irreversible.  I used to have nightmares about soulless people chasing me."

Octavius drew a long breath and his jaw hardened.  He went on, "Not long after Severus left my home to teach at Hogwarts, our mother, Iris Lefay, ran afoul of the law.  Her home was raided by the Ministry, and she was found in possession of certain deadly potions.  She was accused of being an agent for the Dark Lord."

"But she didn't do what they said she did," Ivy asserted.  

"At her trial, even though the evidence was entirely circumstantial, she received a life sentence in Azkaban," Octavius continued, his eyes flashing angrily.  "Barty Crouch Senior was determined to see her punished.  He had always hated her and suspected her.  I tried to have a mistrial declared, but it was no use.  

"I visited her in prison quite often.  While I was there I saw witches and wizards who had been Kissed, and their fate seemed just as horrible as I had imagined.  I had always been told that nothing could be done for them, but I couldn't find a detailed explanation of the Kiss anywhere.  I don't think anyone had ever studied it in depth. 

"Many of the other inmates went mad, as you know, and some of them died. Mother was a tough-minded witch and she held on, hoping that her name would be cleared and her sentence revoked.  But one day when I came to see her, I was told that she had suddenly gone wild and tried to break out," he said with a tremor of suppressed rage.  "And the dementors had acted according to their despicable nature.  As if they couldn't have stopped a little thing like her with one hand."

Ivy's eyes grew enormous and she dropped her spoon on the floor.  "Father, I thought Granny Lefay had died in Azkaban!  You stopped going to see her, you never talk about her anymore—"

"Would that she had, Ivy.  I'll never forget the way she looked when they showed her to me afterwards.  I resolved that I would learn as much as I could about the dementors and their victims, and if possible find a way to reverse the Kiss.  I applied for a permit to study in Azkaban, and when it was finally granted I started to make observations."  Neville picked up Ivy's spoon and handed it back to her.  She took it without noticing.

"You must have one heck of a Patronus, sir," said Harry.  The Patronus charm was the most effective defense against a dementor, and a very advanced piece of magic.

"And a good supply of chocolate for afterwards," added Ron, who knew that chocolate was recommended for anyone who had faced a dementor.    

Octavius smiled and looked a little less tense.   "I certainly had many chances to bring my Patronus up to scratch, Mr. Potter.   It took me many trials to master the technique: splendid discipline for my state of mind.  At the time I felt I had very little to work with in the way of happy memories.  At first, whenever a dementor came near me all I could see were Mother's empty eyes."  Octavius brooded for a moment, gazing unseeing across the table.  "I don't know how I would have managed if it hadn't been for Ivy."  

"Me, Father?" 

"You, my dear.  Ivy, do you remember the Christmas when you were five?  And you gave me the quill you had made yourself?  The one that wrote the song you composed for me?  As I recall, you didn't spell very well yet …"  

Ron snickered into his teacup.  Ivy was frankly blushing now.  "Father, if you wouldn't mind …"

"Very well then, Ivy, I won't go into any more details.  But I've had many occasions to be glad to have you for my spawn, as Lucius so gracefully expressed it; and never more than when rolling up my sleeves to conjure up a thumping good Patronus."

"Happy to be of service," mumbled Ivy in confusion, still clutching the spoon Neville had handed her.  She looked at it and started wiping it with her napkin.  

Octavius resumed his story.  "For a long time I felt that I was learning very little.  It was almost by chance that I discovered that dementors have no mirror reflection.  There are no mirrors and no paintings in Azkaban.  I sometimes carry a pocket mirror with me, and one day I had taken it out so I could watch my back.  A dementor came up behind me and I never saw it until I turned around …"

Harry shivered.  He remembered the first time he had seen a dementor, aboard the Hogwarts Express at the start of his third year: the faceless hooded figure, the glistening-grey, scabbed and skeletal hand reaching out, the rattling inhalation from inside the hood, the feeling of deadly cold and despair that had gripped him.

"After that, I checked every dementor I saw for a mirror reflection, and not one of them had one.  And when I went again to observe the Kissed, I looked in my mirror and saw their mirror-souls looking back at me."  

"Granny's too?" Ivy questioned eagerly.

"Yes indeed, Ivy.  She knew who I was, and winked at me as if to say that everything would come right in the end."

Ivy caught her breath.  "But if you help Granny get her soul back, you'll—Father, please don't—"

"Ivy, let me explain something else.  My studies have led me to conclude that for each victim whose soul is taken, there is a particular person appointed to redeem that soul.  It can't be just anyone, even when the volunteer is a willing one."

"Do you know if—"

"I don't know yet, Ivy," said Octavius gently.

Ivy sat there looking stunned for a full minute.  Finally she said, "I think I'll be having a private chat with Salazara one of these days.  And with you, too, Father."

            None of them knew quite what to say.  The party atmosphere had completely evaporated.  After long thought Lucretia Longbottom came up with, "Octavius, I certainly hope you know what you're doing."

            "You think me young, reckless, and arrogant, don't you, Lucretia," Octavius divined her meaning, "meddling in things that are none of my business and far more dangerous than I realize; but you also think I should be old enough to know better."  She smiled a bit reluctantly, her eyes still worried.  Octavius went on, "The same thought has crossed my mind more than once, but it's too late for me to turn back now."

            "It's just that when Frank decided to be an Auror—" Lucretia started, and couldn't go on.  She got out her lace handkerchief and dabbed at her tears.  

            Another muffled voice issued from inside Octavius' robes.  "Octavius?  Is everything quite all right?"  

            Octavius closed his eyes in annoyance.  Without removing the canvas he said, "Alice, this isn't your affair.  Go back to your group meeting."  Evidently Madam Nightingale had come down to the footbridge.  

            "Well, if you say so, Octavius," she answered, sounding a bit put out by his brusqueness, though actually it was a bit hard to tell.  "They're taking a break right now.  Lucius has been most obstructive.  Are you sure you wouldn't like to—"

            "Share our feelings?" Neville took the words out of her mouth.  "Why not?" he shrugged, and started to giggle.  He ended up laughing so hard he got the hiccups, and Ivy thumped him on the back.  "Sorry," he gurgled.  "I don't know what got into me."

            "Perfectly understandable," said Madam Nightingale's rolled-up voice from somewhere under Octavius' chin.  

            "Goodbye, Alice," he told her firmly.  "I'll be in touch."

            "Just as you say, then," she answered faintly

Octavius was knitting his brows, thinking.  "This could be very awkward.  I can't be at their disposal every minute of the day."  

"Maybe they could leave messages for you by the bridge when you're not available," Hermione proposed.

"You'd better tell us about young Barty Crouch," suggested Ron.  

"Ah yes, Barty," said Octavius, getting back to his tale.

"Let me guess," said Harry.  "You looked in the mirror and saw Mad-Eye Moody."

"Quite so," confirmed Octavius.  "I then inquired closely into the circumstances of the final year before Barty's Kiss.  Most interesting.  And when Professor Dumbledore told me that Barty had been falsely accused of torturing the Longbottoms, I passed the word to his mirror-soul, and to the version of Moody inhabiting his body." 

"You told young Crouch?" Lucretia demanded.

"He had the right to know, Lucretia.  And he was also entitled to know that Pettigrew had been implicated.  Soon after that, I learned that Barty had escaped from Azkaban.  This was a highly unusual event.  The dementors no longer have any interest in those they've Kissed, but the soulless generally don't have enough initiative even to attempt a breakout." 

"Not exactly self-starters, are they?" Ron remarked.

"Not as a rule," said Octavius, "but Barty had Moody to help him.  There's certainly no love lost between those two, but they shared the common purpose of finding Pettigrew and bringing him to justice."

"Did they actually tell you this?" asked Harry.

"Not in so many words," admitted Octavius, "because neither of them could talk.  But I knew them both, particularly Moody, and I could guess what was driving them.  I decided to see if I could find young Crouch and keep an eye on him."  

"But not take him back into custody?" asked Lucretia with a hint of disapproval.

"No.  Do you think I should have?" 

Lucretia shook her head, saying, "You take a lot on yourself, Octavius, but I can't quarrel with the way it turned out in this case."

"For a week or two my investigations turned up nothing.  But then a clue came to me from an unexpected source."

They all waited for him to go on.  Harry was too sleepy to take a stab at it, but Hermione said, "Lucius Malfoy."

"Correct, Miss Granger.  As you know, Lucius was most disturbed when he returned from his holiday in the south of France with his wife."

"Disturbed is not the word," said Lucretia.  "He was livid."

"I saw him at a meeting of the St. Mungo's advisory board, and his behaviour was so odd—tense and jumpy—that I decided to keep an eye on him."

"Lots of paintings to choose from, I reckon," said Harry.  

"Indeed," said Octavius.  "I spent a good deal of time secretly watching him at home, in his office at the Ministry of Magic, and of course at St. Mungo's."

"Is that legal, sir?" asked Hermione.  

"Well, not strictly," admitted Octavius. 

"Father's ability to go in and out of paintings is so rare that it hasn't been regulated much," said Ivy.  "He's good at finding loopholes and blending into the background."  She shrugged.  "People shouldn't hang paintings in places where they want to be really private, anyway."

Harry remembered his session in the prefect's bathroom last year, when he had worked out the clue in the golden egg for the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament.  Neither the painted mermaid on the bathroom wall, nor Moaning Myrtle, the resident ghost of the second-floor girls' toilet, had shown any scruples about spying on him. 

"He's generally kept quiet about what he can do," Ivy went on.  "But somehow Rita Skeeter got wind of it.  One day she came to our house and offered him pots and pots of money to dig up some dirt for her.  Naturally he refused.  But he let her think she might have better luck next time, so it's in her interest to keep quiet about it too."

"Did you listen through the keyhole to find that out?" Ron needled her.

"No, he told us about it afterward," said Ivy, kicking him under the table.

"It turned out that Barty had gone to see Lucius," recounted Octavius.  "He would show up when no one else was around.  No one else but me, that is.  And of course he wouldn't say anything, but Lucius seemed to know why he was there, and made no move to hand Barty over to the authorities.  Just the fact that Barty had tracked him down, soulless as he was, gave Lucius the creeps.  He didn't understand how it was possible.  He may have guessed that someone else was behind it."

"Young Crouch had probably sworn vengeance on Malfoy for framing him," Ron speculated.  "We know Crouch Senior did.  We heard it in Malfoy's appointment book."

"Speaking of the appointment book," said Octavius, "you'll be glad to know that I picked it up before I left Aurelle's room.  I left it at home and I plan to look at it later."

"That was the book Crouch brought in, wasn't it?" said Harry, stifling a yawn.  

"I hope you'll let me have another go at it, Mr. Snape," said Hermione.  "It's quite fascinating."

"I might be able to use your help with it, Miss Granger," he told her.  "It's an important piece of evidence."

"Me too," Ron chimed in.

"One day I found Lucius in a secret meeting with Peter Pettigrew.  Pettigrew had evidently been on Voldemort's business and was reporting to Lucius about it.  I helped Crouch crash their little party.  When Pettigrew saw Crouch, he panicked, turned into a rat, and tried to escape. But Barty managed to get his foot on Wormtail's tail, picked him up and stuffed him in his pocket."

"And Malfoy still didn't stop him?" asked Ron in amazement.  

"He couldn't," said Octavius.  "He tried, that time.  He didn't yet know a very important thing that I had learned in Azkaban.  Crouch himself may not have realized it, but Moody apparently knew; he was a seasoned Auror and might well have picked it up on the job.  Something of the power of the dementors clings to anyone who has received the Kiss.  A touch from the bare hand of such a one is as cold as ice, and its grip causes a bone-chilling stupor.  Ordinary stunning spells have no effect on the Kissed.  Lucius learned the hard way, and Crouch got away with Wormtail."

"I felt it," said Ron.  "When he gave Wormtail to me.  And now that I think of it, Wormtail was cold when I first took him, too.  Crouch could have kept him quiet with one finger in his pocket."

            Harry found that his nose was touching his plate, and realized that he had nodded off.   "Did I miss something?" he asked groggily.              

            "Tons," said Ron, "but we'll fill you in later."

            "No, you didn't, Harry," Hermione assured him.  "You were out of it for only a couple of seconds."

            "Neville, on the other hand, is dead to the world," Ivy observed, nudging Neville's limp elbow.

            "It's late," said Lucretia.  "I'll take Neville back to St. Mungo's with me, and the rest of you ought to be in your beds at Hogwarts."

"There isn't much left to tell, except that I summoned Crouch to Aurelle's room this evening," said Octavius.  "But before you go, Mr. Potter, there is one thing I would like to say to you.  The fact that you spared Pettigrew's life two years ago may well have tipped the balance tonight at the moment of crisis.  His fate is closely woven with Frank Longbottom's and with yours, because of the path he took years ago."

Harry decided to tackle that thought another day.  He and his schoolmates submitted to being kissed by Lucretia Longbottom, and Ivy and Octavius shared an equally soppy goodbye.  Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ivy took Floo powder back to school.  Thanks to Harry's cloak, the three Gryffindors arrived at their tower without being caught.  Ivy had refused his offer of escort to the Slytherin dungeon, saying she could manage by herself.  

****

AN:  Just one more chapter and the epilogue to post.  I know the last few chapters need tightening up, but I have spent way more time on this than I meant to, though I consider it well spent.  I could take another six months, do intensive fine-tuning and add more of those quirky details, but after all it is only a fanfic … Thanks again for the great response!


	20. 19 The SnapePotterLongbottom Trempath

AN:  Just a few loose ends to tie off, but many more left hanging, I fear.  I hope to get back to you all!  

*********

**19.  The Snape-Potter-Longbottom Trempath**

Harry was familiar enough with the aftereffects of the Trempath to know that he would probably be reliving Frank's moment of excruciating triumph all night long.  But it was worth it.  He was sick of the hospital wing, so he took an ice pack to his dorm and hoped he wouldn't wake his roommates more than three times.  He still had the leftover hellebore, and he swigged it down gratefully.

The next thing he knew, it was broad daylight.  When he swept his curtain aside, everyone else was gone except Neville, who was standing by Harry's bed.  

"What time is it?  What are you doing here?"   

"Don't worry, Harry," said Neville.  "I came back early this morning.  You were still asleep, so I went to Professor McGonagall to see if I could get you excused from morning classes.  She wanted to know why you hadn't gone to Madam Pomfrey if you weren't feeling well, and I ended up telling her the whole story.  Well, not all the details, jus the general idea.  You should have seen her face, Harry.  She looked even happier then when we won the Quidditch Cup, and she told me to let you sleep as long as you wanted."

"Thanks, Neville," said Harry.  "I owe you one."

"Don't be silly, Harry.  Professor Dumbledore wants to see you as soon as you've had  breakfast.  I brought some up for you.  Bacon and eggs.  It's in the common room."  

Now that Harry thought of it, he was hungry.  But first, he needed a wash.  When he was dressed he went downstairs to meet Neville in the common room.  He was surprised at how well he felt as he attacked his breakfast.  It might have been the day after a tough Quidditch match, but nothing more strenuous than that.  Before long Harry and Neville were climbing the spiral staircase to Dumbledore's office.  When they went in, they found Lucretia Longbottom already there, as well as Octavius and Severus Snape, Ivy, and Salazara, who had wound herself around Ivy's left arm and shoulder.  

            Dumbledore rose from behind his desk to greet them, his blue eyes blazing with joy.  "Harry, I've seen the Longbottoms.  The difference is astounding.  I can't even begin to express my thanks."

            "But sir," Harry demurred for the second time, "I didn't do it.  It was Salazara."

            "But she couldn't have done it without you, young Harry," Lucretia reminded him.

            "Yes, Octavius, Neville, and Lucretia have given me a detailed report, and it was clearly a team effort.  Your part was vital, Harry."  There weren't enough seats for all of them, so Dumbledore conjured a couple of extra ones, and Harry and Neville sat down.  "As for you, Severus," the Headmaster continued, also seating himself, "I will personally make certain that your role in the Longbottoms' recovery receives the long-delayed recognition it deserves."

            "Thank you, Albus," said Professor Snape stiffly, trying not to look too eager.

            "Now, Octavius, although I owe you a debt of gratitude as well, I am not entirely satisfied with your conduct," Dumbledore said, turning to Ivy's father.   

            Octavius lifted his eyebrows.  "Perhaps I overstepped myself in the way I chose to dispose of Lucius Malfoy and his accomplices …?"

            Dumbledore waved that away.  "No, no, spending time in a painting won't do them any harm.  Quite the reverse if anything." He leaned back in his chair and stroked his beard pensively.  "No, there's something else that concerns me.  Octavius, how could you have been so careless as to mention your research on the Dementor's kiss in Aurelle's hearing?"  

            Before Octavius could reply, Ivy spoke up.  "It wasn't Father who brought up the subject, Professor Dumbledore.  I did."

            "I see.  But how did you find out about it from him, Ivy?  Was he negligent or merely lacking in judgment?" asked Dumbledore coldly.

            "He _wasn't careless, sir!" Ivy defended her father fiercely.  "I just _had_ to find out what he was doing that made him look so sober and eat all that chocolate.  I asked him, but he wouldn't tell me, and I … I …"  She hesitated._

            "You read my research notes, didn't you, Ivy?"

            "Yes, Father," said Ivy.  "I'm sorry, but I had to.  You didn't actually tell me not to.  You just said they were very private and anyone who read them would suffer dire consequences…"

            "Quite," he sighed.

            "Octavius, you're perfectly capable of making your notes completely secure," Dumbledore remonstrated. 

            "That's not what I do, Albus.  What I did was to make sure that they would be read only by those who were meant to read them."

            Dumbledore shook his head.  "How you make that discrimination is beyond me, Octavius."

            Octavius looked surprised.  "I don't make it.  The method itself sifts out the idly curious."  

"I am familiar with some of Octavius' devices," interposed Professor Snape.  "Ivy must have shown great determination and ingenuity to circumvent them."

"Surely they wouldn't have been biased in her favour," Dumbledore demurred.

            "It was all meant to happen," said Ivy.  "Don't you see?  It wasn't anyone's fault.  Father tried to prevent Aurelle from seeing Crouch's face in the mirror.  But I took the mirror from his hand and gave it to her.  You can't cheat destiny."  She stroked Salazara's middle head as she said this.

            "But there are those who bend destiny to their will."  The headmaster looked as stern as Harry had ever seen him.  Ivy met his piercing stare.  "Am I to understand, Ivy," he questioned her, "that if Aurelle Longbottom loses her life for the sake of young Crouch, you too would hold yourself responsible for helping to bring it about?'

            "Yes, sir," Ivy whispered, very white.  She swallowed hard.

            "I gave Aurelle the Marauder's Map," Harry tossed in for good measure, feeling entitled to his share of whatever blame was going around.

            "Do you suppose I want to lose Aurelle when we've just got her back, Albus?" Octavius demanded.  "Remember, I still haven't given the go-ahead for this."

            "I know, but Aurelle is so persistent and single-minded.  She'll give us no peace until the thing is done," said Dumbledore.

            "Maybe that's not a bad thing," said Octavius. 

            "You would consider letting Aurelle Longbottom do what you are afraid to do yourself, Octavius?" asked Dumbledore ominously.  "You would permit her to be a guinea pig for your experiment, when you don't have the nerve to sacrifice yourself first?"  

            "That is correct, Albus." 

            "Even feeling as you do about Aurelle?"

            Octavius' eyes turned cold and flat.  "My feelings for Aurelle Longbottom are not open for discussion."  

            "Professor Dumbledore," said Ivy in a shaking voice, "when Father told me about what happened to Granny, I begged him not to—I'm not as generous as Neville."

            Neville went scarlet with embarrassment.  "Don't, Ivy," he pleaded with her.  He turned to Professor Dumbledore.  "Sir, I don't see how you can let Ivy and her father take all the blame for what my Mum is planning," he said indignantly.  "It's her decision.  And especially when if it hadn't been for them breaking a few rules, I don't see how things could possibly have turned out the way they were supposed to, and Mum would still be unconscious, and Dad ...  You know what I mean," he ended in confusion.  

            "I know exactly what you mean," said Harry, who had been thinking the same sort of thing himself.    

            "Young Mr. Longbottom is quite right," agreed Professor Snape, and Lucretia gave him a grateful look. 

            Professor Dumbledore picked up a paperweight from his desk, a glassy globe with a tiny  apple tree in full summer leaf inside it.  He turned it over once, the apples swelled, reddened, and dropped, and the leaves yellowed and fell; a second time, and snow came down and coated the bare branches; a third time, and flowers budded and bloomed; a fourth time, and the blossoms scattered and the leaves returned.  

            "I don't blame Ivy and Octavius, Neville," said Dumbledore gently, setting the paperweight down again.    

            "You don't?" Neville asked, justifiably puzzled.

            "Not at all.  I am filled with admiration for them."

            "You've been testing them, sir," Harry discovered.  

            "Not only them.  Myself as well," said Dumbledore.  "I have from time to time condoned a certain amount of rule-breaking among my students, when it seemed wise to do so."  Harry caught the merest suggestion of a wink aimed in his direction.  

"Indeed," grunted Professor Snape.

"It never hurts to re-examine that policy, and it is often easier to search for flaws in it when it is practiced by someone else.  Practiced, in this case, with such energy and devotion."  Dumbledore was smiling now.  "As you say, Neville.  What would have become of your parents if Octavius had not sent Ivy to school with Salazara?  If he had not colluded in the escape of young Crouch from Azkaban?  If Ivy had not stolen Harry's wand, and convinced Draco Malfoy that he had broken it?  If she had not brought Salazara with her to St. Mungo's?  All in clear violation of longstanding rules."

Neville seemed to think Dumbledore expected an answer.  "I—I don't know, sir."

"Precisely, Neville.  We never know what would have happened as a result of different choices.  Perhaps another way of helping your parents would have appeared."

"So what you are driving at in your usual roundabout way, Albus," Lucretia summed up, "is some point about breaking rules for the right reasons and taking the consequences."

"Even the really, really serious ones," added Neville.

Dumbledore spread his hands.  "I don't know why I bother pontificating, when so many others do it better than I."

            "But not just for the right reasons," Harry pondered.  "There's such a thing as knowing what you're doing.  Some people just seem to know things without being told."  He looked over at Ivy and Octavius.  Ivy looked smug.  "And some have Runespoors to help them," Harry couldn't help adding.  

            "Nobody taught you to speak Parseltongue, either, Harry," Ivy returned pleasantly.  She didn't stick out her tongue at him, but Salazara's right head made up for it.

"Much of that insight owes to the Lefay blood in the Snape line.  The Lefays have been seers for time out of mind."  Dumbledore paused and began turning the paperweight again.  "I think of Iris often.  I miss her independence of thought.  She and I understood each other well." 

"You know she was unjustly accused, don't you, Albus," growled Professor Snape in a voice that allowed no disagreement.

"I have known for years, Severus," said Dumbledore.  "You have not allowed me to forget it." 

            "I saw Mother not long ago," said Octavius.  "The spark of mirror-life is still there; it may not be too late to save her.  I've been watching for a chance to take one of the Kissed into a painting to see what would happen.  Young Crouch was the guinea pig for that test."

            "An eminently suitable choice," Dumbledore approved.

            "The success of that trial gives me hope that I have bought some time for Barty and Aurelle," Octavius went on. "And now I am determined to do the same for Mother."

            "And for yourself, Octavius?" Dumbledore probed.  

            "I don't know yet," Octavius said, as he had to Ivy the day before.  

            "You don't know?" repeated Dumbledore.

            "He doesn't know if he's the right person," Ivy explained.  "I've talked to Salazara about it, but she's being her usual cryptic self."

            "Ah, the right person," Dumbledore nodded. "I see."  He gave Octavius a searching look. "Well, since you are the one writing the book on reversing the Dementor's Kiss, I suppose we'll have to leave it at that."  

            "If you don't trust Octavius to act with honour in this matter, perhaps I should resign my teaching post here at Hogwarts," threatened Professor Snape, looking thoroughly put out.  

            "That's quite unnecessary, Severus," said Octavius, laying a hand on his brother's arm.  "I suspect that in this case the question is not one of trust, but of philosophical differences between Albus and me, even though we manage to agree about rule-breaking."

            "Quite right, Octavius, but we won't go further into that now," said Dumbledore, putting the paperweight down with the tree in full bloom.  "I spoke with bitterness because Aurelle is dear to me, too, and yet you haven't taken offence.  And where Iris is concerned, you'll have all the help I can give you."

            "Thank you, Albus," said Octavius.  "That is all I could ask."

            "Now," said Dumbledore, closing that subject and turning to another, "I have a message from Frank Longbottom for Harry and Severus.  He would very much like to see both of you one more time, as soon as possible.  Today, if we can spare you.  I told him I thought we could manage it."

            "Do you know why he wants to see us, sir?" asked Harry.

            "Oh, don't worry, Harry, the hard part of your job is finished.  I believe Frank has a pleasant surprise for each of you."  Dumbledore's eyes crinkled in a smile.  "As soon as classes are over this afternoon, get yourselves over to St. Mungo's without delay."

            "If you're certain that it's absolutely necessary,"sniffed Professor Snape, as if he didn't relish the prospect.  

            "Believe me, it is," Dumbledore assured him.  "I won't hear of your begging off.  Neville will be going too, and he can make sure you don't forget.  Now, I believe it is time for lunch, so I will excuse you all.  Lucretia, Octavius, you're welcome to join us for it.  Off you go, then."

            When Harry and Neville went down to the Great Hall, Professor McGonagall caught sight of Harry and came over to him, smiling all over her face.  "Mr. Potter, congratulations—Longbottom told me all about it—we're all very much in your debt."  She wiped away a tear.  "Yours too, Miss Parkinson," she added as Ivy appeared, having dropped off her Runespoor beforehand.  "Though if I had known what you were up to …" She shook her head, still smiling.  

            "Ron and Hermione helped too," Harry reminded her, as they came up behind him.           "Yeah, we did," said Ron.  "But Harry spent the most time in the trenches.  And say, Professor, you should have seen Neville.  He was amazing."

            "I'm not a bit surprised," said Professor McGonagall.  "Although he didn't mention that part."  Neville blushed again.  

            As they sat down at the Gryffindor table, Hermione asked, "So Harry and Neville, what did Professor Dumbldore say when you and Ivy went to see him this morning?"

            "Lots of things," said Neville.  "Some of them not very nice."

            "He came down pretty hard on Mr. Snape," said Harry, who found that he was hungry again despite the lateness of his breakfast.

            "No kidding," said Ron, helping himself to sausage and mashed turnips.  His face was clean-shaven again; in fact, it looked as if he had actually shaved, and not very skillfully.  

            "Ivy too," said Neville.  "He said he didn't really mean it but I think he couldn't help it.  He wasn't a bit happy about my Mum and Mr. Crouch."

            "Can we hear all about it at Hagrid's this afternoon?" Ron asked hopefully.  

            "It'll have to be tomorrow, Ron," said Harry.  "Professor Snape and I have to go and see Frank again today.  He asked us to come."

            "What for?" Ron wanted to know.  

            "No idea," Harry shrugged.        

When they arrived at St. Mungo's, Neville stayed out in the waiting area while Harry and Professor Snape went into the room where Neville's parents, their beds pushed together,  were lying hand in hand.  

"Harry.  Severus.  Thank you for coming," Frank greeted them.  

"We know it's a great deal to ask of you after all you've done," said Aurelle, "but it's fortunate that you're here, because Dr. Leech is going to break the link between Frank and his Trempath so that another patient can use it."  

"And then will you be going home?" Harry asked.

"No, they won't let us out of here for weeks and weeks," said Frank.  

"They say we still have a lot of recovery ahead of us," added Aurelle.  "We'll probably be seeing Madam Nightingale several times."

"I expect she's got her hands full right now with her three new group members," said Harry.  

"Dr. Leech won't let me talk to Barty yet," said Aurelle regretfully.  "He wants me to wait till I'm stronger."  

That made Frank chuckle.  "As if she hasn't already proved her strength."

Professor Snape shifted his feelt impatiently.  "Why have you summoned us here, Longbottom?"

"I was coming to that, Severus.  I can repay a tiny part of the debt I owe to both of you, by using the Trempath one last time."

Professor Snape looked dubious.  "It's really not necessary—" he started.  

"Oh, but it is," Aurelle asserted.  "You see, every time a Trempath is used successfully, its power increases.  Every one of its partnerships is imprinted in its memory.  This particular Trempath, the Snape-Potter-Longbottom Trempath, will be highly prized when Frank returns it.  But if possible each transaction must be balanced and complete."

"You'd better go first, Harry," said Frank.  Harry stepped over to Frank's bedside and took the Trempath, with no inkling of what would happen.  A thunderbolt of sheer joy almost took his breath away, and with it came an unshakable conviction that everything would come right in the end, no matter how hopeless it appeared, and that the finality of death was only an illusion.

"You see," said Frank, "I had to share this with you too, after the Curser.  It's only fair."

Harry looked at the Trempath and saw it sparkling like a Christmas tree; he saw Frank and Aurelle watching him open the best Christmas present he had ever had.  

Harry knew that the Frank Longbottom's mind was as scarred and maimed as the body of Mad-Eye Moody, with his magic eye and his wooden leg and the chunk missing from his nose.  Yet they had both survived, and Frank's wounds were just as honourable as Moody's, though not as obvious.  Now Harry was beginning to see past the scars.  Amazingly, despite the intimacy of the Trempath, he had only begun to know the person Frank really was.  

            And then, "You knew my parents," Harry exclaimed, because Lily and James Potter were there in his mind in a way they had never been before, not as his own mother and father, but as Frank and Aurelle's friends.  No particular memories came to his mind, but Harry knew they were there; all he had to do was ask.  But that could wait.  For now, just knowing James and Lily were with him was enough.

A sudden thought made Harry start to give back the Trempath, but Frank wouldn't allow it.  He said, "The Trempath follows a basic law of human interaction, Harry.  Pain shared grows less; joy shared grows greater."

"Right.  I knew that," said Harry, grinning like a fool, so happy he didn't know what to do with himself.  He almost needed to check to see if he had sprouted wings. "Anybody need a Patronus?" he asked no one in particular.  Finally he said, "I don't know if I can take much more of this," and handed the Trempath back.  This time Frank took it, but Harry still felt as if he had come into a fortune whose existence he had never suspected.  

"Come over here, Harry," Aurelle beckoned him.  Harry walked around to her bedside and she pulled him down far enough that she could kiss him, while Frank reached over and put a hand on his shoulder.  "You'll have to come and celebrate with us when we get our wands back, Harry," Aurelle invited after she had released him.  

"Of course," Harry consented.  "I'd be honoured."

"And Ron and Hermione and Ivy and Salazara," added Frank.  "And you too, Severus.  Now come and take your turn with the Trempath." 

            "Really, I think I had best be getting back—" began Professor Snape, distinctly twitchy.

            "Not until you get what's coming to you, Severus," Aurelle insisted sweetly.

            "It's not really all that bad, Professor," Harry managed with a straight face, and then exploded with laughter after all.

            A fleeting expression of panic crossed Snape's face.  For a moment he looked trapped.  A venomous scowl gathered between his brows, but before getting the full benefit of it Harry said, "I'll just, er, wait outside," and left the room hastily, shutting the door behind him.      

Neville looked up from the pamphlet he was pretending to read.  "How was it, Harry?"

            Harry just shook his head, unable to describe it.  "Did you know about this?" he asked at last.  

            "Dad told me this morning what he was planning," Neville answered.  "He hoped the timing would work out.  It looks like it did."

            "Must have," said Harry.  "I haven't touched the ground yet."  He sat down, leaned back, and plunked his feet on another chair, in clear violation of longstanding rules.  

            "And Professor Snape is having it now, is he?"  

            "I hope so," said Harry.  "After he saw what it did to me, he wanted no part of it.  I must have looked a right idiot."

            "Happens to me all the time," said Neville.  "Remember the Broken Record Spell?"

            "Yeah, and the tutti-frutti Jell-O," Harry snorted.  "Good job you were there,  Neville.  Marshmallows and all.  Say, I've wanted to ask you, which was scarier for you?  Snape and the Broken Record Spell, or Lucius Malfoy?"

            "Snape," said Neville.  "No contest.  And that spell was horrible.  But both times, I was so mad I hardly knew what I was doing."

            "I've learned to watch out for that nasty temper of yours," said Harry.  "Especially with Mr. Malfoy.  I think I would have felt the same if it was my Mum."  

            "I still can hardly believe it, Harry. Mum and Dad—it's like they're back from the dead."

            "I know.  Salazara was terrific, wasn't she?"

            Neville apparently understood that Harry would turn aside any attempt at thanks.  "What do you think a Runespoor would like for a present, Harry?" he asked.  

            The Longbottoms' door opened and Professor Snape strode out.  "Time to go, Potter," he said abruptly.  Harry unhurriedly removed his feet from one chair and stood up from the other.  

            "See you, Harry," said Neville.  "Bye, Professor Snape.  I'll be back again tomorrow."

            "See that you're not late for class, Longbottom," Snape warned.  

            "Yes, sir," said Neville.  "We won't be meeting in Secret Room Number Eight on Wednesdays anymore, will we?"

            "I suppose not," Snape ruminated.  "Unless … perhaps you would like to continue?"  His eyes brightened and he rubbed his hands together.

            Neville's jaw dropped at the suggestion.  "Well, sir, I really don't—I mean of course it was very—" he stammered.

            "Just checking, Longbottom," said Professor Snape, his lips quirking with amusement.

            "He's having you on, Neville," murmured Harry, shooting a suspicious look at the Potions Master.  "Anyway, you'd have to do it without me, because I'm through."

            "No matter," Snape dismissed the idea.  "You both did better than I expected."  His tone made it sound as if he hadn't expected much, but all the same, from him it was a generous admission.  "And I have many demands on my time."

            As they made their way back through the corridors to the designated fireplace on the Floo network, Harry wanted to ask Professor Snape what his time with the Trempath had been like, but he didn't want to sound too nosy.  "So," he finally said without looking at his teacher, "You took your turn, Professor Snape?"

            "I did, Potter," Snape told him, staring straight ahead.

            "I hope you, er, liked it," Harry ventured.  He decided not to ask if Snape had had a kiss from Aurelle.

            "Evidently you did, Potter," Snape observed.

            Harry grinned again at the memory.  "Yeah, I reckon," he said.  "It was … well, you know how it was."  He didn't dare inquire about Iris Lefay.  "Sir, will you join the rest of us at Hagrid's tomorrow when we celebrate?  Ivy's father is invited too, naturally."

            This time Professor Snape looked at him.  "Seriously, Potter?"

            "Seriously, sir.  It's only right that you should come."

            Snape pursed his lips.  "It's a lot of fooishness, but I might spare a few minutes," he allowed.  "Just to make sure things don't get out of hand."

            The next morning (it was Saturday), Hagrid's hut was more crowded than Harry had ever seen it.  Lucretia Longbottom had come, and Octavius and Ivy sat on either side of Professor Snape, each holding one of his arms so he couldn't bolt.  Harry suspected that they had dragged him there by main force.  Salazara had draped herself comfortably over all three of them.  Ron had outdone himself in the matter of purloined refreshments, and Hermione and Neville had helped him carry them across the grounds and were helping him unpack and set them out on the table.  For once Hermione had nothing to say about overdoing it.  

            When Harry stepped through the door, Hagrid grabbed him and started pounding him almost insensible.  "Yeh did it, Harry!  Yeh did it!  I can' hardly believe it!" 

            "It wasn't me," Harry said for the third time, reeling from the impact, and from the Trempath high that still felt like walking on clouds.

            But Hagrid wasn't having that.  "I don' want ter hear any more of that 'It wasn' me' codswallop," he said sternly.  "Yer goin' ter stand there, Harry, and take it like a man, if I've got anythin' ter say abou' it.  Ron, Hermione, make sure everyone's got a drink."  He waited until everyone had a mug of butterbeer (Ivy had to let go of her uncle's arm).  "A toast," announced Hagrid, holding his mug high, "ter someone who never gave up till the job was done—HARRY POTTER!"  Loud clanks and deafening cheers.  

            "Okay, I surrender," said Harry when he could make himself heard.  "But it would never have been possible without NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM!"  More cheers, and tears from Lucretia.  

Neville jumped to his feet from his seat on the floor, spilling half his butterbeer.  "I nominate IVY PARKINSON!" Loud cheers followed, and some impressive table-thumping from Octavius and Severus Snape.

Ivy rose more gracefully, and declaimed, "Neville, I accept your nomination, and raise you THREE CHEERS FOR UNCLE SEVERUS!"  Harry led the cheering, and Octavius clapped his brother on the back until Severus choked on his butterbeer.  

"Most irregular," he coughed. When he had managed to catch his breath he proposed dourly, "All due credit to Octavius."  This brought more applause, more cheers, and a piercing whistle from Ivy.  

Octavius stood up and pronounced, "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you SALAZARA, the Little Runespoor that Could."  

"BRAVO!" roared Hagrid, and drained his mug with a flourish.

Salazara, now ensconced around Ivy's neck, raised her middle head, and the rest of them hushed to listen.  "_Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs_," she hissed quietly.  Harry and Ivy both translated.

That stopped them in their tracks.  "Well, Wormtail in the Map, I suppose," Hermione admitted.  "Of course that would be who you meant."

"I wonder how he's enjoying his tapioca," reflected Ron.  "And while we're at it, what about Mad-Eye Moody?"

"You mean the one in young Barty Crouch's body," Hermione deduced.  

"Yeh've lost me," said Hagrid.  

"It's frightfully complicated," said Harry.  "I suppose you want to hear the whole story of Thursday night."

"But first," Neville interjected, "A hand for the rest of the team—Ron, Hermione, Hagrid, and Gran."  They all gave a final cheer, and Lucretia needed her handkerchief again.  

            Octavius and Lucretia wanted to hear everything from the beginning, so Neville began with the first time Harry had seen Frank Longbottom.  They all told it, interrupting and correcting each other and adding explanations.  Professor Snape even contributed some information about his tutorial methods.  When Neville got to the part about the breaking of Harry's wand-double, both the Snapes listened with close attention.  

            "You took a terrible risk, Ivy," said Octavius, shaking his head.  "Even though the mission didn't go astray, you or young Malfoy might easily have been expelled from Hogwarts."  

            "She is young and ignorant," Professor Snape stated coolly, "perhaps fortunately in this case.  One who was older and wiser might not have acted with as much resolve."

            "Not doing it would have been even riskier," Ivy countered.  "For Draco especially.  I'm still convinced of  that."

            "Especially after the way Mr. Malfoy threatened you," Neville put in.  "And Draco too."

            "I haven't forgotten that," said Octavius tightly.

            "I haven' heard that part yet," said Hagrid.

            "We're getting ahead of the story," noted Hermione.  

"Yeah, Neville, you were just explaining how Ivy cried herself to sleep every night for a week,"  Ron prompted.

            "No, tha' was me," said Hagrid.  "I was more upset than Harry."

            "Don't bet on it," said Harry.  

            "Say, Ivy, have you talked to Draco lately?" asked Ron.  

            Ivy wrinkled her nose.  "Yes.  I told him the whole thing was my fault, and that I'd told his father so, but that didn't make him feel any better.  He doesn't want to have any more to do with me.  Fortunately he seemed to think dumping was the worst thing he could do to me."

            "He doesn't deserve to feel better," Harry exclaimed heatedly.  "And you're way too good for him, you know that, Ivy.  He can go back to Pansy; she's more on his level."

            Somewhat to Harry's surprise, Professor Snape stayed until the end of the recital.  He showed particular interest in the inside of Lucius Malfoy's office.  "I wouldn't mind having a look round myself," he muttered.  

            "Octavius could take you," suggested Lucretia.

            Lunchtime found them still bringing each other up to date, with the food showing no signs of running short.  The house-elves had supplied them with an all-day high tea, featuring beef pies, jam tarts, tipsy trifle, whole roast chickens and hams, watercress sandwiches, and the like.  When the party finally broke up, well along in the afternoon, Ron stuffed most of the leftovers back in the hamper to take up to Gryffindor Tower.  Neville insisted that Ivy take something too, but all she would accept was some caviar for Salazara, who had shown a marked taste for it.  

            After Hagrid had given him another drubbing by way of farewell, Harry went round to Hagrid's garden     , followed by Hermione, Ron, Neville, and Ivy.  "Mr. Crouch!" he called.  The ghost of Crouch Senior appeared, looking as somber as ever.  "Yes, Potter," he answered in a dejected voice.  

            "Octavius Snape took your son into a painting, and he can talk now," said Harry, hoping to avoid lengthy explanations.  "I thought you might like to go and see him."

            "It's just a stopgap," said Crouch sourly.  

            "Yes, but at least you could talk to each other," said Hermione.  "And have you heard that Aurelle Longbottom has offered to redeem his soul?  Mr. Snape has been studying how it can be done.  And the Longbottoms are themselves again, did you know?"

            The ghost of Crouch was silent for a moment, drifting and nervously rubbing his almost-invisible moustache.  Harry got the feeling that Crouch preferred brooding on his fantasies of revenge to the prospect of actually having his troublesome son restored, most likely to be clapped back in Azkaban.  At last Crouch said, "Generous of her, but I don't know if it would be wise.  I suppose I'll have to see him.  Give my respects to Frank and Aurelle."

            Hermione wasn't finished with him.  "I think you should also apologise to Winky, your former house elf," she lectured him, "and while you're at it, what about Iris Lefay?"

            "Perhaps Weatherby could look into it," hedged Crouch, looking uneasy.

            Ivy gave Crouch's ghost directions to the Secret Room Number Eight and Madam Nightingale's clinic.  As they left to cross the grounds to Hogwarts, Harry remarked, "The news doesn't seem to have cheered him up much, does it?"  

            "When did you ever see him cheerful in life, Harry?" Ron asked him, and Harry had to admit that he had a point.

The next Monday they had double Potions with the Slytherins just as if nothing had happened.  Well, not quite … 

As he sat down, Draco Malfoy looked daggers at Harry over his cauldron, in which he was getting ready to prepare the Wart Removing Draught they had been assigned to read about.  "What have you done to my father, Potter?  Whatever it is, you'll be sorry."

"It wasn't me," said Harry (again), heaving his bag onto the next table.  "Haven't you heard?  Professor Snape's own brother put Lucius in a painting.  Ask Professor Snape."

"You're lying," retorted Malfoy.  "I know you're behind it, Potter."

"I'll take that as a compliment," said Harry, whose good mood was still holding up.  

"Or why not ask Ivy?  Your precious Ivy beat you at your own game, Malfoy," Ron couldn't resist taunting, "and now her father's done it to yours.  I always knew Slytherins were their own worst enemies."

"Why don't you stay out of this, Weasley?" blazed Malfoy.  "What do you know about it, anyway, you little low-life?"

"I saw him," jeered Ron.  "He didn't look a bit happy.  But it's lucky for you he's there, because I wouldn't want to be the one to have to face him about … you know what."  Ron jerked his head in Harry's direction.  

"Even though _she _took the rap for you," Harry added.  "She's got more stomach for it than you have, Malfoy.  I'm surprised that even you would hide behind a girl."  With that, Malfoy drew his wand, and Harry drew his; but Malfoy popped his back in his robes with a crafty smile before Snape, who had just entered, could catch him holding it.

"Silence, Potter!" thundered Professor Snape, striding to the front of the room.  "And put your wand away before I confiscate it.  We don't use wands in this class.  What is the meaning of all this?"  

Ever literal, Neville answered the question.  "Malfoy started it, sir."

"All I saw was Potter's wand out," contended Snape.  "All I heard was Potter making inflammatory remarks.  I will have to take points from Gryffindor."

"But that's not fair, sir," protested Neville.  "You came in after it started."

"Do you dare question my discipline, Longbottom?  I would advise against it." 

"Y-yes, sir, I do," Neville whispered.  

Ron gave Neville a warning nudge.  "Remember where you are!  This is Potions class!"

"Oh, right," said Neville.  "But still …"

Professor Snape scowled blackly at Harry and Neville, but seemed to be having trouble summoning the old, familiar hostility.  However, he had to keep up appearances.  "Potter and Longbottom, _two points_ from Gryffindor … no, _three_ … for _each of you, for your impertinent behaviour."  He made it sound like six weeks in a subterranean, rat-infested dungeon.  "Now we will review the ingredients for today's potion.  I trust there will be no more disturbance.  I have provided warty toads on which to test your mixtures, but I also have a wart-inducing potion already made up in the event that a human trial seems indicated."_

Harry had hard work not to burst out laughing.  Ron, next to him, seemed to be having the same problem, and Harry didn't dare catch his eye.  

That evening Harrry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville had returned to the Gryffindor common room to work on homework.  "I don't know what got into me," said Neville, looking pale and shocked.  "I can't believe I actually did it."

"Did what, Neville?" asked Ron.  "Sauced Snape in Potions?"

"No, not that.  I—I asked …" he trailed off.

"You asked Ivy to the Spring Dance?" Hermione guessed.  Neville nodded.  

"You didn't!" Ron exclaimed gleefully.  Harry knew that Ron was remembering his own ill-fated attempted to take the lovely Fleur Delacour, from Beauxbatons, to the Yule ball the previous year.

"I really did," said Neville.

"She said yes, didn't she?" Harry said, grinning.

Neville nodded again.  "That's what I really can't get over.  We're going to meet in the Great Hall."

"But Neville, you, er, your dancing …" Ron didn't quite know how to put it.

"I know," said Neville.  "Ivy saw me with Ginny at the Yule ball last year.  She made me promise to let her teach me a few dance steps before the night."

"Well, there you are," said Hermione.  "You'll be fine.  I'm sure she's an excellent dancer and a good teacher, too."

"She does everything well," said Neville.

"So, you really like Ivy, do you?" said Ron. 

"She's the prettiest, bravest, and _almost the smartest girl in the school," said Neville positively, but giving Hermione her due. _

"What other Slytherin would dare to be seen with a Gryffindor?" Ron asked the universe.

"I con't think of many Gryffindors who'd want to be seen with Slytherins, either," Hermione commented.  "You'd better watch your back, Neville."

"Yeah, even playing chess with her in the Great Hall is kind of risky," Ron told him.

Neville shrugged.  "At least I'm safe from Salazara," he said unconcernedly.

"I wasn't planning to go at all," said Harry, "but this I have to see."

On the night of the Spring Dance, Ivy was wearing robes of a deep blood-red, much the same shade as the Durmstrang school uniform, but far more sheer and clinging, with no room for a Runespoor to lurk undetected.  She had reddened her lips to match, and a ruby pendant hung on her forehead from a fine silver chain threaded into her upswept black hair.  She looked every inch the enchantress.  Neville stared at her without a word, and Ron whacked him on the arm.

"Neville," he said, "Your date's here."  Ivy winked at Neville and took his arm, and finally he woke up from his trance and stuttered, "You look b-beautiful, Ivy."

"Try stunning," suggested Harry, also looking at her with appreciation.  "I see you have a third eye tonight, Ivy."

"I always do," she told him, grinning, "but you can't always see it."

            * * *

AN:  Of course Barty Jr. doesn't deserve to have Aurelle give her life for him.  But in a horrible way he needs her more than Neville does.  I couldn't bring myself to write her death into the story, so it might, after all, be years in the future.  Just the epilogue to go now.  


	21. 20 The Auror's Grandson

AN:  Kind of a lot of generational stuff in this epilogue.  Would kids really be so obsessed with their grandparents?  Oh well, it's only a … oops. Epilogue: The Auror's Grandson 

A sister and brother sat together in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express.  A new  year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was about to begin.  The girl, who looked about thirteen, wore glasses on her round, serious face, and her straight dark-brown hair hung down in two long braids.  The boy appeared to be about two years younger, with black hair and eyes and a definite chin.  The door opened and a girl with bushy red hair bounced in.  

            "Hi, I'm Veronica Weasley.  Ronny for short.  May I sit with you?" she asked.  

            "Go ahead," said the brown-haired girl.  "I'm Iris Longbottom and this is my brother Severus.  It's his first year at Hogwarts."

            "Mine too," said Veronica, sitting down opposite the other two.  

            "Iris is starting her third year," added Severus.  "Do you have any brothers or sisters at Hogwarts?"  

            "No, I'm the eldest," said Veronica, "But Art will probably be coming next year.  And I have lots of cousins there on the Weasley side.  They're all Gryffindors and I expect I will be too.  Both of my parents were.  What House are you in, Iris?"

            Iris smiled in a friendly way.  "I'm a Hufflepuff, like our Granny who died before I was born.  Our father's from Gryffindor, and Mum's a Slytherin."

            Veronica's eyes grew round.  "A Gryffindor and a Slytherin married each other?"

            "Why shouldn't they?" asked Severus, jutting his chin.  "Just because Gryffindor and Slytherin have never got along?"  That silenced Veronica for the moment.

            Severus knew a fair amount about the four Houses at Hogwarts.  Iris, who had a good head for poetry, had memorized the Sorting Hat's verses from the two Sortings she had attended, and repeated them to him when she came home for the holidays.  She had told him that the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws didn't care one way or the other about her parentage, but she had got some funny looks and awkward questions about it from various Gryffindors and Slytherins.  

            Severus had an odd feeling he would be joining Gryffindor or Slytherin.  But he didn't know which.  Indeed, he wasn't at all sure which he would prefer.  Many wizards seemed to think that Gryffindor was the best, but he passionately admired his Grandfather Octavius; and Great-Uncle Severus Snape (for whom he was named) had certainly given him the impression that Slytherin House had come unfairly by its bad reputation.  

            Iris thought most fondly of Grandfather Longbottom, who taught Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts.  His hair had gone completely white, though he wasn't quite sixty.  Grandfather was a perfect duck and spoiled his grandchildren whenever he got the chance, and ordinarily he wasn't a bit strict with his students.  The only thing that made him really angry was any kind of cruelty.  When he caught any student, in his class or out of it, bullying another, he got a look in his eyes that the bravest would want to run from.  He hardly had to say anything.  

            Iris worried that her brother Severus would not have an easy time at Hogwarts.  She hoped that Professor Longbottom would be able to help, and she was ready to do anything she could.  But in the end he would have to find his own way.  

            Veronica had collected herself.  "Well, that's what I've always heard.  And Dad says that all the wizards who went over to the Dark side came from Slytherin."

            "Is he absolutely sure of that?" Severus demanded.  "Has he made a list?"

            "I don't know," Veronica admitted.  "Mum isn't as sure.  She was Muggle-born, but she knows an awful lot.  She teaches History of Magic at Hogwarts, you know."

            "Oh, so Professor Weasley is your Mum?" said Iris with interest.  "Yes, she really knows her stuff.  She gives us loads of reading and writing to do."

            It was morning.  Harry opened his bed curtains and looked across at Neville, who was sitting on the edge of his bed looking flummoxed.  "What's up, Neville?" Harry asked.  

            "Harry, I just had the strangest dream!" Neville said dazedly.  "About the future.  I saw my children on the Hogwarts Express."

            "Yours and Ivy's?" Harry guessed.  

Neville nodded, looking sheepish. "I didn't do it on purpose," he said.  "But there was someone else in the compartment too."

Ron poked his head through his own curtains.  "Someone else?  Who was it, Neville?"

THE END

AN: Yes folks, this is really it.  Back in November of 2001, inspired and moved by GOF, I sat down to write a fanfic "short story."  But I got carried away, and nineteen months later, after numerous tinkerings and revisions, I passed the 100,000 mark, finally achieving a complete draft less than two weeks before the release date of OOTP.  Although by that time I had about 20 friends cheering me on, I couldn't bear to go public with it until I'd done a little more editing … it's so tricky to get the dialogue to sound right.  

The turns the story took continued to surprise me.  When I introduced Salazara, I had no idea how important she would be to the story, but her three-headedness came in unexpectedly handy; same with the Marauder's Map, and the mirror-double idea (which did get a bit confusing) and the scar on Harry's wand.  And when I thought of Ivy (of whom I am very proud), I had NO IDEA I was creating a mate for Neville.  Honest!  

Although I borrowed her name, I don't identify that strongly with Iris Longbottom, the Auror's granddaughter.  I think of myself as more of a Ravenclaw.  

Having been desperate to finish the thing for the last six months, I ended up leaving a lot of loose threads hanging.  Naturally the question of a sequel comes up.  DOES Aurelle actually give her life for Barty?  When and how?  (Don't blame me, talk to Fudge!)  What about Iris Lefay?  I have an idea about who is appointed to save her.  Another thought: maybe Neville's sister wasn't miscarried, but was later born alive and, unknown to both parents, survived, to be spirited away by dark wizards to be trained for some nefarious purpose.  Sort of a Rosemary's Baby scenario.  Voldemort will probably try to steal the Snape-Potter-Longbottom Trempath.  

But it is really time I got back to my long-neglected original fiction.  Pouring my heart out in a Harry Potter story wasn't part of the plan!  But I've loved every minute of it, and learned a great deal.

When I'm really knocking myself out to create something authentic and true to the original Harry Potter (as opposed to just fooling around), I feel a strong sense of being on holy ground.  Certain liberties with the story are just off-limits, and that's what the disclaimer really means to me.  I'm just borrowing these people and I want to return them in good condition and still recognizable.  

Thanks for all your interest and support.  I love to write reviews too, so see you there!  


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